


gold rush

by thewayofthemandalorian



Category: Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: Age Difference, Declarations Of Love, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Married Life, Minor Spoilers, Neighbors, Non-Explicit Sex, Not quite enemies to friends to lovers, Older Man/Younger Woman, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Requited Love, Slow Burn, getting off on the wrong foot, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewayofthemandalorian/pseuds/thewayofthemandalorian
Summary: Maxwell Lord is broke after revoking his wish. No longer able to afford his current lifestyle, he has no choice but to move into an apartment complex. You’re his neighbour and at first want nothing to do with him given everything that happened with him. But as you get to know him and his son, you begin to see the real Maxwell.
Relationships: Maxwell Lord/Reader
Comments: 29
Kudos: 203





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of my first Maxwell series! This chapter sort of sets the initial story up. It’s not quite enemies to friends to lovers because reader and Maxwell are never really enemies. They do get off on the wrong foot though. It picks up right where the movie leaves Maxwell and Alistair off, which I estimate as being July 6, 1984 based on the timeline and events of the movie, and I add an explanation for why Max doesn’t seem to get into any trouble.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Nothing really. There is a slight age gap between Maxwell and reader (he is 5-8 years older than her). Some egregious knowledge of what lawyers do.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

_Friday, July 6, 1984_

Maxwell held his son close to him. “I just wish and I pray that, one day, I’ll be able to make you proud enough that you’ll be able to forgive me.” He paused, catching his breath, getting his voice even. He rested his hands on Alistair’s face. “And love me.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Because I’m nothing to be proud of.”

Alistair looked at his father thoughtfully for a moment. “I don’t need you to make me proud,” he said, looking at Maxwell with all the love and admiration he had for him. “I already love you, Daddy. You’re my dad.”

Maxwell looked up at his son, fresh tears in his eyes as Alistair cupped his cheek with his little hand. He pulled his son in for a hug, allowing his tears of remorse for what he had done and love for his son fall from his eyes. Neither of them said a word as they held each other close.

After a time, Maxwell pulled back from Alistair. “Come on, Alistair. Let’s go home. It has been a long day and we need to rest.”

 _And I need to find out if I am going to be in trouble_ , Maxwell thought to himself.

He pulled himself up, taking Alistair’s hand in his to pull him up as well.

Maxwell had no idea what would come next, but with his son’s hand in his, it didn’t seem like it would be that bad.

The walk back to the house was surprisingly quiet. Max had assumed that the streets would be filled with panicked, angry protestors wanting his head. But aside from commuters and people going to and fro, it was as it had been. Peaceful. Quiet. No one paid him or Alistair any mind as father and son made their way home.

Maxwell had to admit, it was not at all what he was expecting. It was unnerving him if he was being completely honest. It was as though no one could remember what had happened. Who had caused all the chaos that had reigned for the better part of a week.

To the rest of the world, it appeared that Maxwell Lord was back to being that infomercial oil guy. He cringed inwardly at the words, remembering that that was how Dr. Minerva had referred to him the first time they met. Maxwell had been adventageous with her, but she had been adventageous right back with him. He wondered if she renounced her wish, what would happen to her.

Pushing the thought from his mind, Max fished the keys to his house from his pocket. He was tired. Alistair was tired. He knew that both he and Alistair needed a long rest. But as he pushed open the door, he knew that that was probably not going to be happening anytime soon.

Locking the door behind him, Maxwell glanced at the answering machine that was on the counter in the kitchen beside the pile of mail - mostly past due bills.

_How many messages would be on the machine?_

“Take your shoes off, Alistair,” he said, forcing a smile onto his lips. “I’ll make us something to eat. Are you hungry?” he asked as he and Alistair made their way to the kitchen.

Maxwell forced himself to focus on the tin of soup he would make for himself and Alistair - one of the few things he knew how to prepare without ruining - before he would listen to the likely dozens of messages. The light indicating new messages blinked teasingly at him as he filled a pot with the tomato and basil soup. “Will you stir?” he asked Alistair, handing him a spoon. Alistair was happy to help, intent on making the soup perfect for him and his dad.

Max pressed the play button on his answering machine. The automated voice filled the spacious halls. “ _You have one new message_. _First message July sixth at two-thirty-seven p.m._ ”

 _Only one_? _That hardly seemed plausible_ , Maxwell shrugged as the message began.

“Mr. Lord, good afternoon. It’s Jeffrey Tillson over at Tillson and Morgan law firm at about twenty minutes to three on Friday.” Maxwell’s heart sank. “We need to speak to you as soon as possible, it’s urgent. Please give me a call back as soon as you’re able to.” Tillson rattled off the phone number of the law firm and his extension before wishing Maxwell a good day.

Maxwell was hyper-aware of Alistair’s eyes on him. He looked up from the answering machine, ignoring the prompts for him to save, delete, or replay. “It is probably nothing, sweetheart,” he said, pressing the delete button absently.

Picking up the phone, he dialled the number that Tillson had given him. His secretary picked up after the third ring. “Tillson and Morgan law firm, this is Cecilia speaking. How may I help you?”

Maxwell instinctively put on his business-man persona. “Cecilia, darling, how are you? It’s Max Lord calling for Jeffrey Tillson.” He glanced at the kitchen clock, it was just past three-thirty now.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Lord, he was expecting your call! I’ll put you through right away.”

Maxwell thanked the secretary, telling Alistair to turn the burner off as he waited for the lawyer to pick up.

“Jeffrey Tillson,” the lawyer said by way of greeting.

Maxwell cradled the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, moving over to the stove to inspect the soup. “It is Max Lord, returning your call. You said you had something urgent?”

He already knew what the answer would be, had known what it would be since he renounced his wish. Maxwell looked at Alistair who was looking up at him with curiosity.

“Yes, yes, Mr. Lord. Good of you to call me back. I won’t ask you to come in just yet. And I won’t beat around the bush, either.”

Maxwell’s heart sank at the resigned sound of his lawyer’s voice, preparing to say goodbye to his son forever.

“You’re broke,” the lawyer said. “You don’t have a dollar to your name.”

 _Now that he hadn’t been expecting_. _Or the relief that flooded his entire body._

* * *

_Monday, July 9, 1984_

First thing in the morning, Max woke Alistair. He couldn’t leave his son alone, he wouldn’t. “Come on, baby. We have to get up to go see Mr. Tillson.”

Alistair groaned. “It’s the summertime, Daddy. Which means I can sleep in.”

Maxwell had to chuckle at his son’s logic. He had had the same logic once, too. “I know, and I am sorry, but it is important. We can play whatever you want when we get home, I promise,” Max said.

Alistair’s eyes slid open. “M’kay,” he mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

It was just after eight when Maxwell and Alistair made their way to the lawyer’s office. Max decided to drive this morning, even though the legal office was only twelve blocks away. Alistair was tired.

Over the weekend, Washington had transformed into what it had been before the chaos that had been Friday. It was as though it had never happened. But he remembered it. So did Alistair.

Maxwell parked across the street from the firm. Taking Alistair’s hand in his, they crossed the street. It was a hot, sunny day. The elevator ride up was quiet. “Daddy, why are we here?” Alistair asked as the two of them sat in the office, waiting for Tillson.

“He’s going to tell me what happened with my money. What I should do,” Maxwell explained quietly. He stood up as Jeffrey entered the room, a file folder of documents in his hand.

The two men shook hands before Max sat back down. “Sorry about all this, Max,” said Tillson, glancing at Alistair.

“Just tell me what to do. Am I in trouble?” Maxwell couldn’t help but ask.

His question confused the lawyer. It appeared as though he wasn’t speaking financially, but generally. Tillson frowned. He’d never known Max to ask a question quite like this one. “Apart from financially, no. Not in any trouble. Why do you ask?”

Even though he was financially ruined, Maxwell felt an ease he hadn’t felt all weekend. For a while, actually. “Just wondering, financially speaking.” The lie was smooth on the lawyer’s ears but felt brittle on Maxwell’s tongue.

“Right, well.” Tillson pulled out some documents from his folder. “You were holding on by a thread for so long, but now…” He shook his head. “It’s bad. I won’t lie to you. Black Gold is bankrupt. I don’t know what your personal bank account looks like, but your best option is to sell Black Gold. Downsize.”

Maxwell felt a pang of remorse, of hurt. He had built Black Gold from the ground up when he was in his early twenties, desperate to prove his father wrong. It seemed that he hadn’t proven anyone wrong but himself.

Tillson continued. “I would also advise you to sell the house. You were smart by buying it before the housing prices soared a few years ago, so you won’t owe the bank _too_ much.”

Max nodded absently. “Where… where will we live?” he asked.

“I’ve already found you an apartment to live in. It’s a drastic downsize compared to the house you currently have, but it should be affordable. And you can apply for… aid,” Tillson trailed off awkwardly, still in disbelief that he was advising Maxwell Lord to apply for financial aid.

Maxwell nodded. This was only temporary, he told himself. It had to be. “I will do what is best for my son,” he said with a quiet determination.

His lawyer nodded. “And you never know, maybe you can try again once you’re back on your feet.” He continued, talking about drafting a business bankruptcy claim and signing the lease at the apartment building.

All of this was happening so quickly. If Vanessa could see him now.

Alistair clutched at Maxwell’s hand tightly as they rode down the elevator. “Daddy?” he said quietly. “What’s going to happen?”

Maxwell hummed in thought for a moment. “We are going to get through this, Alistair. This is going to be temporary, I promise.”

“Am I still going to stay with you?” Alistair asked, his voice hopeful. “When I’m not with Mommy and Victor?”

Maxwell kissed the top of his son’s head. “Absolutely. No one can keep us apart, I promise.”

* * *

_Thursday, July 26, 1984_

You groaned as the door to the apartment next to your slammed shut for the millionth time. Someone was moving in after months of peace and quiet.

It couldn’t stay empty forever, you knew that, but you had gotten used to the peacefulness. The least you could hope was that these people weren’t loud. You’d heard a little kid’s voice, so the quiet was debatable.

It had been a weird summer. Ever since that oil guy in those ads had snapped and tried to destroy the world (or whatever it was that had happened, you weren’t too sure), no one could remember what happened. It was like the world collectively blacked out and couldn’t recall what happened or who had caused all the destruction. But you could.

See, when Max Lord had asked everyone to wish for something, you had scoffed and rolled your eyes. Not wishing for anything, you had watched as tensions grew, a pressure cooker of a crisis.

Then a mysterious woman, a woman you had seen before on the news a few times before, had spoken to him off-camera and he renounced everything. Last you heard, he went broke, had to sell Black Gold at a pittance.

 _Good_ , you thought. It was what he deserved, in your opinion.

But what made things even _weirder_ , was the fact that no one remembered this. Who caused the destruction? No one could remember. Just that they had wished for something and then revoked it a few moments later. Whenever it was mentioned, people would look flummoxed, like they were trying to remember an important detail that slipped like smoke through their fingers.

You didn’t know the full story, but you knew no one would believe you if you spoke about it. And you did know that Max Lord looked sickly when he was blathering on the television. Like, super sick. Almost like he was two steps away from being on death’s doorstep. It was a far cry from what he looked like in those Black Gold infomercials, where he had looked so healthy and full of life.

Either way, his hair looked awful, regardless. Unnatural with the blonde streaks. If that man was a natural blonde, then you were the long-lost queen of Atlantis.

Faintly, you could hear voices from the hallway. The kid wanting to know if there was a park nearby where he could play. A man’s voice - he sounded official, like a lawyer or something. You frowned. What was a lawyer doing in a dump like this?

Then you heard another voice. _His voice_. It was faint, muffled. But you would know that voice anywhere. Max Lord.

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. _The_ Max Lord, former oil baron and almost world-ender was your new neighbour?

 _This_ you had to see.

Slipping into your sandals, you flung open the door. Suddenly unsure of what you were going to do or say to him.

But the first person you saw wasn’t him. “Hi! I’m Alistair!” The little boy’s voice and bright smile was endearing. He seemed like a sweet kid. “I just moved in here with my daddy when I’m not living with my mommy and Victor.”

You smiled back at him. It didn’t surprise you that Max Lord was divorced. In fact, you recalled seeing it in the news that his wife, Vanessa, had left him a few years ago.

Giving Alistair your name, you shook his hand. “I’m your new neighbour,” you said with a conspiratorial wink just as the boy’s father stepped out into the hallway.

“Daddy! Daddy! This nice lady is our new neighbour!”

For the first time, you looked at the man you had made a great deal of assumptions about. _Oh, my God, he was handsome_. If you had to judge, you would put him anywhere between five and eight years older than you. Younger than you had originally thought. Maybe the cameras added ten years as well as ten pounds, you mused.

Max Lord looked awe-struck by you, too. Extending his hand, he cleared his throat. “Good afternoon. My name is Max Lord.”

You took his hand reluctantly, giving it a weak shake. “I know,” you said, hesitantly giving him your own name in response. “I’ve seen the commercials.”

Max smiled ruefully. “Yes, many people have. But… that is not my life any longer.”

Dropping your hand from his surprisingly soft hand (he probably used a lot of hand lotion, you figured), your eyes hardened. “Well, maybe if you wish really _hard_ , you can get your money back.”

Max was clearly taken aback. He knew what you were referring to. You knew who he was.

Before he could say anything, you turned on your heel and went back into your own apartment, the click of the lock echoing in Maxwell’s ears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Notes: This one might be a bit exposition-heavy, but I wanted an excuse to bring a certain character in while also explaining more of why no one can remember what happened except for reader. But she is starting to understand Max a bit more with this chapter 
> 
> Chapter warnings: A single swear, talk of possession, guilt, self-doubt
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

_Monday, July 30, 1984_

You hadn’t heard from your new neighbour all weekend. Apart from him speaking sternly into the phone at one point on Friday afternoon. You couldn’t quite tell who he was speaking to at first, but at one point you heard him say, “Alistair is my son, too. He should stay with me this weekend. Get aquainted with our new living space.”

 _Ah. The ex-wife_.

Apart from that, not a peep outside of puttering. Unpacking boxes. You felt a little bad for the way that you had introduced yourself to him. But you still couldn’t help but feel jaded towards him, towards the situation that he had found himself in.

It wasn’t even something you could explain, what happened. Even if you were the only one besides Mr. Lord who could remember what happened. You wondered if that woman who spoke to the world could remember. Probably. But no one knew who she was.

All weekend, you went back and forth between thinking that he didn’t deserve the introduction you had given him, that you should give him a chance, and thinking that he did deserve what you had said to him and a lot more. You hadn’t missed the way his eyes, so warm and open and caring and not at all like they looked like whenever you saw one of his infomercials, and _especially_ not how they looked when he had tried to take over the world, had fallen in disappointment when you shoved his words back in his face on Friday. God, you didn’t know.

Now, a few days later, as you were cleaning your apartment, your mind couldn’t stray away from the conflicting emotions on Max Lord’s face. The way his breath had hitched with realization that you remembered everything from that day earlier in the month. The look of panic and… remorse? You couldn’t quite identify it.

 _No._ You shook your head in an attempt to free your mind of your thoughts and doubts of the way things had happened in the hallway on Friday. Max Lord had made his bed, now he had to lie in it. He had to face whatever consequences came his way.

That didn’t mean you had to be cold and stand-offish to his son, Alistair. He seemed like a sweet kid in the minute that you had spent with him on Friday. And he was innocent in all of this.

Still, you remembered how Max had given up his wish and the chance of power and glory for his son. You hadn’t missed that part.

 _Enough of that_ , you chided yourself, scrubbing the kitchen sink with a wash cloth and cleaner.

It wasn’t something you had expected when you realized that you were getting a new neighbour. All you had hoped was that they would be quieter when you were trying to sleep, that they wouldn’t ignore your requests and complaints about their loud music.

 _Be careful what you wish for, right?_ You couldn’t help but smirk to yourself at the thought as you rinsed down the kitchen sink, letting the hot water stream over your fingers.

So lost in thought you were that you almost missed the knock on the door.

Turning the water off and shucking the rag in your laundry basket, you opened the door.

Before you stood the man of the hour himself, as if summoned by your thoughts, Max Lord.

The two of you stood and stared at each other for a moment.

 _God, he’s handsome_ , you thought again before breaking the silence. “Can I help you?” you said by way of greeting, your expression as neutral as possible.

“We need to talk,” he replied. “May I come in?”

You leaned against the side of the door. “That depends. Are you going to steal all my worldly possessions and ask me for a wish in return?” you quipped.

Max actually chuckled, albeit ruefully. He liked you. “No, nothing like that, I promise. I just… I need to figure some things out.”

You stood up straight, opening the door and stepping aside so he could come in. “I don’t know what _I_ can do to help you. But by all means, come on in.”

* * *

You stared at Maxwell as the two of you sat at the kitchen table, you in your tank top and shorts. “Ignore the mess. It’s cleaning day today,” you said by way of apology.

Max shrugged. “It’s fine,” he said.

“What, uh, what is it that you wanted to talk about?” you asked, dropping your gaze from his eyes.

His eyes. Which looked so different compared to almost a month ago. What was it about his eyes? you asked yourself.

Your unexpected guest cleared his throat. “You remember,” he stated simply.

Knowing what he was talking about, you decided to fuck with him a little bit. Fair game and all that. “I remember lots of things. I remember the moon landing. That was a cool day for me. I remember when Kennedy was shot. But vaguely, I was just a little girl then. I remember The Beatles and when they first came to America. I remember Watergate. I remember when I had my appendix taken out, and when I went to my first movie at the theatre. There’s more that I remember, I can keep going if you like.”

Max just stared at you. “Very funny,” he said drily. Not missing your wicked smirk, he continued. “No, I meant that you remember what happened. With… with me. On the television.” He glanced away.

Dropping your sarcasm and playfulness, you nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

“Why?” Maxwell asked. “ _How_?”

You shrugged. “I really don’t know. No one else seems to remember. Just me. Well, and you and I’m assuming your son. I didn’t wish for anything. Maybe that has something to do with it?” you guessed.

 _Well, that was interesting,_ Max thought. “Y-you didn’t wish for anything?” he echoed.

“Yup. That’s right,” you confirmed.

He almost looked taken aback. Everyone had wished for something, even Diana.

 _Diana_ , he realized. _If anyone would know it would be her_. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “But why? Why not wish for something?”

You just gave him a pointed stare. “You mean besides all that happened?” you asked, sarcasm dripping from your voice before it turned serious. “I don’t like a gold rush, Mr. Lord. Nothing good comes that easy. You have to _earn_ what you want. Also, hasn’t anyone else heard the phrase _be careful what you wish for_?” you asked.

Without even realizing it, your words cut deeper than you had intended.

“I know,” Max whispered regretfully.

If you hadn’t felt conflicted earlier about your first exchange with him before the weekend, you did now. You shook your head.

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened. Why no one remembers,” said Maxwell.

You could only shrug. “I don’t really know. Every time I bring it up - which isn’t often,” you added when Max looked at you with panic, “-I am always met with the same response. People look at me like I’ve grown an extra head.”

He could understand, remembering how his lawyer had reacted when he asked if he was in any trouble.

“It’s been something I’ve been trying to figure out myself,” you admitted after a moment, looking at your hands.

Maxwell nodded. “It’s frustrating. But I think I might know someone who can help. Are you busy today?” he asked.

You frowned at him. “Why?” you asked warily. You may be in agreement over this, but did you trust him?

Truthfully? You didn’t know the answer to that question.

“I have a… a contact who might know the answer. How do you feel about a trip to the Smithsonian?”

You sighed. “What’s at the Smithsonian that can help you?”

Max shook his head, already standing. “Not what,” he said. “ _Who_.”

* * *

“I’m not really dressed for a trip to the Smithsonian,” you muttered as you stepped off the bus. Maxwell right behind you, looking horribly out of place on the bus in his attire. He still wore a suit like the ones from his advertisements. You wondered if he owned any t-shirts or jeans. Anything casual.

Maxwell waved off your concern. “It’s fine. We’re just going to see Diana.”

It was then that Max realized that you would be beautiful in just about anything.

“What are you looking at?” you asked suddenly. He blinked. “What?” you asked again, more annoyed.

Max shook his head. “It’s nothing. Let’s go.” He glanced at his watch. His ex-wife was due to drop Alistair off at around four. It was one-fifteen now. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long.

You had been to the Smithsonian before, but never quite like this. You could feel Maxwell tense beside you as he led you to the archaeology department. “What is it?” you asked almost impatiently. “I can feel you tensing up from here. This was your idea, you know.”

Max didn’t say anything, lost in thought. Thinking about the other person he knew from the Smithsonian. Barbara Minerva. He wondered if she blamed him like you seemed to. He felt your blend of confusion and impatience. “It’s nothing. Just thinking.”

The two of you found yourself in the archaeology department before too long. “We are here to see Diana Prince,” said Max to the receptionist.

The receptionist just took one look at the two of you and scoffed. “She’s busy.”

“It’s important,” you said.

Before the receptionist could tell you to take a hike a voice came from behind you. “It’s fine, Margaret. I know him.” Both you and Max turned to see who you gathered to be Diana Prince. “What are you doing here?” she asked aas she led you to her office. She didn’t sound _displeased_ to see him, but she was weary all the same.

“We need your help,” you said, trying to place her familiar voice.

Diana turned to look at you, a look of interest and confusion on her face. “Who are you?” she asked. “Max never mentioned you.”

“I’m his neighbour,” you supplied, introducing yourself.

“And the only other person who seems to remember… what happened besides us,” added Max.

Diana wasn’t expecting that. “How do you remember? No one remembers.” A look of sadness crossed her face for a moment and you knew exactly what it was that this woman wished for.

Before you could answer, Maxwell blurted out, “What happened to Dr. Minerva?”

You didn’t know who Dr. Minerva was, but based on the way he looked, the way he asked, it was what had been eating at him earlier.

“Last I heard, she fled Washington. Aside from that, I don’t know.”

Maxwell let out a breath as Diana asked you again how you remembered.

“I don’t know if it’s because I didn’t make a wish, but I remember every single detail that I saw. More or less.”

Diana let out a _huh_ , before turning to Max. “I will have to look into the Dreamstone. Do a bit of research on it.” She hesitated for a moment before asking, “When you said that you _were_ the stone. What did you mean by that?”

Hyper-aware of your presence, Max said, “I wished to become the dreamstone. That I would have its power.”

Just as Diana had suspected. “All right,” she said on a sigh. “It shouldn’t take too long for me to do some research. Have a seat.” She gestured to the pair of chairs at her desk before pulling out a book on Roman and Greek antiquities. There was a tabbed page.

Maxwell was aware of your stare. “Yes, I wished to be the stone,” he said in an undertone.

You shook your head. “I didn’t say anything,” you said.

“You didn’t have to.”

Diana read at a lightning speed, unaware of everything else that was happening.

“Who is she?” you asked, trying to change the subject.

Max chuckled to himself. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

But before Max could speak, Diana looked up from her book. “I know what it is.”

You and Maxwell glanced at each other before looking at Diana. “What is it?” asked Maxwell.

Diana began to explain. “One of the properties of the Dreamstone is that once a wish has been revoked, it causes the wisher to forget whatever happened. What led them to making that wish, what they wished for. The results of the wish. All of it. Since you were, in essence, the Dreamstone, you remember.”

Max nodded. That made sense.

“Then how do you remember?” you asked, still not fully satisfied.

Diana and Max shared a look. “It’s… complicated,” Diana said, glancing down at her book again, her eyes skimming the page. “How do you feel?” she asked Max suddenly.

“I just lost all my money, Diana. I am a joke and a failure. How do you think I am feeling?”

Something twisted inside you at Max’s words. You ignored it.

Shaking her head, Diana said, “Not emotionally. _Physically_. You looked quite unwell the last time we saw each other.”

She had a point, you thought. When he had been on TV telling people to make wishes, he had looked _terrible_.

Max ran a hand through his dark blonde hair, thinking. “I feel fine now,” he said.

“I thought so,” said Diana. “The stone was possessing you. You were being possessed by it. It was taking over your body, draining your life force. Controlling you and twisting you,” she explained.

You were more taken aback by this than Max was. “Like-like a movie?” you asked dumbly.

Diana nodded. “In a way.”

A lightning bolt of realization hit you then. “His eyes. I remember his eyes looked different than they did on his commercial. And the way they do now,” you said. “Would that have something to do with it?”

“In theory,” said Diana. She pondered for a moment. “Yes, I think you are right,” 

Maxwell looked conflicted. It would have been so easy to brush aside everything that had happened because of the stone. “But I still made the choice to wish to become the Dreamstone,” he said, his voice husky.

“You did,” Diana said, not refuting him. “But I wished for my dead boyfriend to return. And so many other people wished for things.”

“I wanted that power, though. It was like I was drunk on it. I wanted to have it all, to prove everyone wrong about me. To finally have what I’ve always wanted,” Max said.

“Do you still want that?” asked Diana simply

He shook his head vehemently. “No. I just - I want my son to be proud of me. I want him to have the life I never could.”

* * *

You didn’t say a single word on the bus ride back to the apartment.

“Say something,” said Maxwell as the two of you got off the bus half a block away from the apartment.

What was there to say?

Inhaling, you chose your words carefully. “Why?” you asked. “Why did you wish to become the Dreamstone?”

Max sighed. “It’s complicated. I could say I was misguided. Desperate. But there’s more to it than that.” When you didn’t say anything, he continued. “I meant what I said at the museum. I don’t want that anymore.”

The two of you trudged up the stairs.

“Would you do it the same way?” you asked, “if you could do it all over again, would you wish for the same thing?”

Maxwell’s answer was firm, vehement. “ _No_.”

You believed him. “Okay,” you said quietly.

“Okay,” said Maxwell. And that was the end of that. At least for the time being.

The two of you at some unspoken understanding, Max left you at your door. Before too long you could hear Alistair returning from his mother’s. He sounded happy to be with his dad.

“Did you have a good time?” Max sounded diplomatic, probably to spare his son from the residual acrimony from the divorce.

Alistair’s voice was quieter than it was when you met him, but the walls were thin. “I guess so,” he said, his voice unconvincing, “I missed you. I’m happy to be back here, Daddy.”

You forced yourself to stop listening. You didn’t need to know. It wasn’t your business.

Putting a record on, you started to make your supper. Letting your mind wander again. Back to the man who lived next door to you.

If you had been confused this morning, you were downright mystified now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot happens in this chapter! Max and reader are starting to get to know each other a bit better and we start to see what Max’s ex-wife is like (Spoiler: the worst). Also denial is a powerful thing.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Swearing, food mention (reader eats meat and dairy), brief alcohol mention, brief mention of workplace harassment, bad parenting by ex-Mrs. Lord, residual guilt.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

July gave way to August. You were giving Maxwell his space, feeling shy and awkward after learning what had truly happened with him last month. You had meant it when you said that you believed that he had seen the error in his ways, that he was a changed man.

And an understanding did exist between the two of you now. Instead of staring at him with a hard gaze when your paths crossed two days later as you were making your way to work for the day, you offered him a shy smile. One that he returned. You had seen his televison smiles, the ones that he offered in the infomercials they still aired. But this one was real. Shy, but real. One that met his eyes.

It was a lot to digest. You couldn’t even imagine what Max was feeling about all of it. If you had to hazard a guess, a lot of guilt and remorse. Part of you wanted to go over to his apartment and tell him that what’s done is done and that he shouldn’t be ashamed. But you were shy, and it wasn’t really your place to say that.

Truthfully, you just didn’t know what to do or say to him. Did you just move past it and turn over a new leaf? Did you address it and ask what he was thinking?

You couldn’t say specifically what Maxwell Lord was thinking when he had decided to make the wish to become the Dreamstone that corrupted him and twisted him, as the woman at the Smithsonian had described it. Based on what little you knew, he wanted to better his life, and give Alistair everything he could. Kind of an odd way of going about it, you thought, but you knew that after that day with Maxwell and Diana Prince, you didn’t know as much about it as you had previously thought.

You felt bad about giving him a hard time when you first met. But you couldn’t change that. All you could do was do better in the future, _be_ better.

As the gears turned in your head, thinking about Max and the Dreamstone and everything else, the cicadas hummed outside. It was a hot summer, and today was no different. The air conditioning was on, but it wasn’t quite doing the trick. You were so grateful that you had a fan as well.

You glanced at the clock on your night table. It was just past eleven in the morning now. You had to be at work in less than an hour, and all you wanted to do was lie on your bed in as little clothes as possible.

Being the assistant manager at an ice-cream shop and chocolatier was not what you imagined yourself doing when you were younger, but it paid the bills and put a roof over your head. It paid more than minimum, but not enough so that you could afford any more than this shitty apartment, especially in the winter months when fewer people wanted ice cream. The week of Valentine’s Day was the busiest it got in the winter, with many people wanting to buy chocolates or fudge for their date.

Idly, as you showered, you wondered what Max was doing for money. You knew that Black Gold was bankrupt; that was no secret, it had been the headline on the news and in the paper for the past month. It must be sickening, you thought, having to be reminded of your perceived failures on a daily basis.

“I just lost all my money, Diana. I am a joke and a failure. How do you think I am feeling?” you remembered Maxwell saying.

You forced that memory from your mind for the time being as you turned off the shower.

Wiping the steam from the mirror, you focused instead on getting ready for work. It was going to be a busy day, that you were sure of. You pulled on your clothes, eternally grateful that there wasn’t a uniform at the shop. Just an apron. And you had to wear long pants and closed-toe shoes. Most of the time you didn’t care, but it was such a hot day today and you just wanted to wear a pair of shorts instead of pants.

Opting to let the sun dry your hair, you grabbed your bag and your keys and your walkman and headed out the door, mentally preparing for the day.

Sparing a glance at the unit next to yours as you locked the door, able to faintly hear Maxwell speaking to Alistair about something, you made up your mind. “I’ll go over and say hi when I get home,” you said to yourself, coming to the conclusion that you would be kind to him from now on.

* * *

Max stared at his reflection in the mirror for a very long time. More specifically, his hair.

He hated it. Had hated it from the moment he first asked the barber to dye it that dirty blonde. In his mind, if he wanted to make it as a successful man, he had to look the part.

It was long overdue for a haircut, and Alistair’s hair was starting to get shaggy as well.

“Daddy?” called Alistair from outside the bathroom. “Am I having a bath?”

Max opened the door. Running a hand through his son’s hair, he smiled. “When we get back, Alistair.”

Alistair looked up at his father in curiosity. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“To get our hair cut.”

Max couldn’t afford the usual barber he went to any longer, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t afford to get his hair fixed.

“What are we doin’ today?” asked the woman at the desk, smacking on a piece of gum.

“A trim for my son and…” Max trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it.

The receptionist prompted him. “And?”

 _Now or never_ , thought Max. “Can you… undye hair?” he asked, almost self-consciously.

If he was going to move past Black Gold and being a television personality, he needed to have a better look. _His_ look.

“Sure can. It’ll be about ten minutes wait. Have a seat and someone’ll call you up when they’re ready.”

Now, as Max stared at himself in the mirror while Alistair was in the bath, he realized that he was feeling more like himself again after so long.   
”You changed your hair, Daddy,” said Alistair as he played with a toy boat.

Max turned from the mirror to smile at his son. “I did, yes,” he said.

He had also had it trimmed a little bit as well, and the barber had warned that this would be permanent, since he was going back to his natural hair colour (which wasn’t hard to identify, given that the blonde was starting to wash out, anyway). “That’s why I’m doing this,” Maxwell had said. “I want it to be that way.” 

“I like it. It looks better than it did before,” Alistair said before announcing that he was ready to get out.

Maxwell smiled again at Alistair as he pulled the plug on the bath. Picking up the towel to hand to him, Max asked, “Do you want to come with me to get the mail?”

Alistair nodded in excitement.

At about six-thirty, you were finally home. Your feet thanked you profusely as you stepped out of your shoes. What a day. At least you had tomorrow off. Just as you were peeling your socks off, there was a knock on the door.

“Hi,” said Max.

Your eyes just about fell out of their sockets. His hair. It was… well, he was _beautiful_.

“H-hi,” you replied. “You dyed your hair.”

Max chuckled. “Technically I undyed it.” He held some letters in his hand.

“It looks - well it looks really great.”

He smiled at you, genuine and kind, lighting up his entire face. “Thank you.” He held up the mail in his hand. “The mailman must have gotten confused. Your mail was mixed in with mine today.”

It was your turn to offer a smile, albeit a tired one. “That’s nice of you to bring it over, thank you. My last neighbours would just shove it under the door,” you said gratefully. You hadn’t even thought to check the mail when you arrived home, too tired to think about it.

“It’s no trouble. I’ll, uh, I’ll let you get on with your evening.” Max offered you a goodnight, which you returned in kind, eyes flicking to his hair once more before shutting the door as he walked back to his own unit.

You could admit to yourself that Max was handsome, good-looking. Lots of people were attractive, _right_?

* * *

It was one of those days that you knew, you _just knew,_ from the moment you woke up, was going to be rough.

A few days after Max had dropped off your mail, it was like the world was conspiring against you from the second you woke up forty-five minutes later than you should have. Bypassing a shower, you downed your coffee quickly. Sloshing half of it down your shirt.

“Fuck,” you said, not for the last time today, as you hissed at the heat of the coffee drenching your shirt. You glanced at the clock. You had less than five minutes before you had to be at the bus stop. Wiping the coffee out in a half-assed fashion, you shoved your feet into your shoes, grabbed a banana from the bowl, and hurried out the door.

You made the bus with seconds to spare and for a moment you thought your day was turning around. Then you fell onto the sidewalk when you were getting off the bus at the shop, the contents of your bag flying everywhere.

“Fuck,” you grumbled as you picked yourself up. Inspecting yourself, you found a few superficial scrapes, nothing serious, before picking up the things that had flown in every which way.

Annie, the manager, raised an eyebrow at your appearance as you let yourself in. “Rough morning?” she asked.

You just stared at her as you pulled an apron from the hook. “You could say that,” you replied.

And it didn’t get any easier than that as the day progressed. A customer not making up her mind about what kind of ice cream she wanted, demanding a free sample of every. Single. Flavour. With a line-up seven people deep. A mom who said you over-charged her and not listening when you told her, no, you hadn’t; you’d had to balance the till just to get her to go away. And worst of all, the man who didn’t take no for an answer when he asked for your number. You’d had to lie and say you had a boyfriend to get him to go away.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you signed off for the day.

You needed groceries. As much as you just wanted to go home and ignore the world for the rest of the day, your fridge was sparse.

Nothing bad would happen with the groceries, right?

Just as you were stepping up the outside stairs of the apartment building, one of the paper bags began to rip. “Don’t,” you whispered with futility to the bag. “Please don’t.”

But the bag didn’t listen. It split right in half, letting the groceries go flying.

“FUCK!” you shouted. “Oh, my God. What a day.”

Suddenly, you heard your name from behind you. Turning, you saw Max Lord before you. “What happened?” he asked, concern etched on his face. Then he saw the groceries on the ground. “Are you all right? What happened?” he asked again.

“The bag boy didn’t listen when I told him not to pack my bags too heavy,” you said with a forlorn sigh. How in the hell were you supposed to carry everything up three flights of stairs?

As if reading your mind, Max said, “Hang on one moment, I’ll be right back.”

All you could do was nod as you looked at the strewn groceries. At least there was nothing breakable in that bag. Your jug of orange juice had a dent in it, but at this point, you were past caring.

A few minutes and half a dozen stares from passersby later, Max returned with a few plastic bags. You were half-expecting him to just hand you them and be on his way. But instead, pleasantly surprising you, he handed you one of the bags, keeping one for himself and began to help you pick up your items.

“Thank you, Mr. Lord,” you said wearily.

“Max, please,” he replied as he put the jar of peanut butter in his bag, followed by the bread.

“Thank you… Max,” you repeated.

Max just nodded. “Of course,” he said. “Bad day?” he asked sympathetically.

All you could do was nod. “What gave it away?” you asked drily.

“Lucky guess,” he joked lightly.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you ever have those days where everything goes wrong?”

He nodded. “Yes, I’ve had a few of those, one not so long ago.”

 _Oh, shit_. “I’m so sorry - I didn’t mean -”

Max cut you off, lifting his hand up, saying your name. “It’s fine,” he said.

“Still,” you said, not meeting his eye. “Sorry.” You hoped he knew you meant for more than this one thing.

Picking up the small bag of rice and putting it in his bag, Max started up the stairs. “Really, it’s fine,” he assured you as you followed him into the building.

_Today really was not your day, was it?_

Trying again, you asked, “How was your day? Hopefully better than mine.” You cringed thinking about all that had happened today.

Max told you about his day, about how he was looking for a job to bolster what savings he _did_ have. He’d cashed in a few of his more profitable investments so he was not as financially adrift as he originally thought.

Again, he surprised you by offering to help you put away the groceries. An offer you took him up on.

Before he left to return to Alistair, who was watching television, you stopped him at the door. “Max. I really am sorry. For being so harsh with you when we first met,” you said. “You didn’t deserve it.”

Max smiled a little forlornly. “Thank you. But there’s nothing to forgive,” he said, gazing at you for a moment. “I hope you have a better night tonight.”

Max Lord was not so bad after all, you thought as you wished him a good night in return.

* * *

The rest of the week and the weekend passed without importance, your horrible day becoming a distant memory.

You and Max had come to some sort of understanding and the awkwardness of your first couple of interactions had melted away, much to your relief.

It was a quieter day at the shop, what with more staff working today, so you were able to catch up on some office stuff that had been neglected last week. It was a low-key day, but you were looking forward to going home. Not in the mood to cook, you decided to pick up a pizza for yourself when you got off work.

Pizza and free pint of chocolate ice cream from work in tow, you were just coming up to the apartment unit when you heard little sniffles coming from what sounded like the stairs. As you rounded the corner, you saw -

“Alistair? Buddy, what’s wrong?” you asked, concern filling you. “Where’s your dad?”

Alistair sniffled again. “He - he’s at the bank,” he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I don’t know when he’s getting back.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. In the almost month you had known Max Lord, you had never known him to leave his kid alone for more than a few minutes. He was dedicated to taking care of Alistair. “And why are you here all by yourself?” you asked.

“I-I was supposed to be with my mommy. And I was. But then V-Victor s-s-showed up a-and she h-had Jim d-drop me off,” Alistair said in between sobs.

You felt anger, hot and unrelenting, rise in you. Keeping your voice calm, you asked, “When was that, honey? Do you know what time it was?”

Alistair gulped, “F-four thirty.” It was now five minutes past five.

You saw red. You didn’t know the ex-Mrs. Lord, but if this was how she treated her son, you didn’t want to know her.

Making sure that none of your anger at a woman you had never even met was in your voice, you said, “I’ve got a pizza here, and some ice cream from the shop that I work at. Tell you what, why don’t we go upstairs, get you cleaned up and we can have some? That sound good, honey?”

Alistair just nodded. Balancing the pizza box in one hand, you helped him to his feet and went upstairs.

“Come on in, kiddo.” You let go of his hand and fished in your pocket for your keys. “Here we are,” you said quietly, ushering him into your apartment.

Dropping the pizza box on the counter, you poured Alistair a glass of water and got him a tissue to blow his nose. “Here you go, Alistair. I always feel better after drinking some water when I’ve been crying.”

He gulped down the water thirstily. How his mom could just leave him like that was beyond you. “You hungry?” you asked. He nodded. “It’s pepperoni, I hope that’s okay.”

Alistair’s eyes lit up. “That’s my favourite!” he exclaimed.

“Me, too,” you said, going over to the cupboard to get out two plates and a glass for yourself. You had been planning on having a beer, but instead opted for water as well.

As you ate, you found out all about Alistair. He was going into grade two in the fall at the public school down the street and he mostly lived with his dad now. He loved Star Wars and reading and colouring. His favourite person was his father. Also you found out, “Your place is a lot neater than ours.”

You took a bite of pizza. “That so?”

Alistair just nodded.

Just then, you heard tuneless whistling, someone coming up the stairs. “Daddy!” cried Alistair, his face lighting up.

“Stay here for a minute, Alistair, I’m just going to go and tell him you’re here.”

Not knowing what to say, you knocked on the door. Max opened it. Behind him you could see the mess that Alistair was talking about. Not unmanageable, but definitely noticeable. “Hi,” said Max.

“Hey,” you replied. “Um, Alistair’s at my place,” you said with no preamble.

Max’s eyes widened. “What?” he asked. “What’s he doing there? He’s supposed to be at Vanessa’s.”

You told him what had happened, Max looking angrier and angrier with each word you spoke. 

He sighed. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” he asked. “I have to call my ex-wife.”

You could faintly hear what Max was saying. The conversation didn’t last as long as you expected it to.

“Infuriating woman,” you heard Max grumble as he walked over to your apartment.

“Daddy!” said Alistair from the couch. He stood up and ran over to greet Max.

Max crouched down so that he was at eye-level, scooping him up in a hug. “I am so sorry, baby. I didn’t know I would be that long at the bank. And I’m sorry that… that you were waiting for me here.” He didn’t know how else to phrase it.

Alistair just nodded, a little glum. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’re having pizza!” he said.

“Help yourself,” you supplied.

You allowed Max and Alistair time to speak, pretending to busy yourself by tidying the kitchen, hearing Max say reassuring things to his son in a quiet tone.

Before too long, Alistair was dozing on the couch and you found Max standing before you. “Thank you,” he said. “Truly. He told me what happened and how you made him feel better.”

Breath caught in your throat, you simply nodded. “How - how could I not do what I can to help him?” you asked quietly. “He’s the sweetest little boy, I can’t understand why -” You cut yourself off before you could say something rude. “You don’t leave kids alone like that,” you muttered to yourself.

Feeling a twinge of guilt, Max agreed. “You’re right. And I made it _abundantly_ clear to my ex-wife that it won’t be happening again.”

_Not by her or by me._

“Will he be all right?” you asked, changing course slightly. You glanced at Alistair on the couch.

Max nodded. “He will. Today was just…” He sighed.

“Yeah,” you said on a sigh of your own.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Max spoke again, his voice quiet. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“With what? What do you mean?” you asked.

Max paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I was living on borrowed luxury for a very long time. I can hardly remember what it is to cook for more than one person, let alone myself, or to keep the apartment clean. I’ve had people to do that for me for a very long time. And now... Well, now I don’t.” He was embarrassed, you realized.

That explained what Alistair had said earlier. What you had seen when you went over to tell Max what had happened. Before you could say anything, Max was already moving towards the couch to wake up Alistair.

“I’m sure you want us out of your hair,” he said as he gently shook Alistair’s shoulder before you could protest and say it was fine, that they could stay as long as they wanted to. “Alistair, c’mon. It’s time to go home.”

As Alistair woke up from his little snooze, you felt Max’s gaze upon you.

 _Probably just grateful I watched his kid_ , you told yourself.

“I can’t thank you enough,” said Max as they stood at the door. Alistair reached out and hugged you.

“Any time,” you replied, hugging Alistair back, meaning what you said.

Left to your own devices, you let your mind wander as you finished tidying up, putting what remained of the pizza in the fridge. And you finally realized just how wrong you had been in your initial assessment of Max Lord.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where things change dramatically for her and Max. They are starting to fully understand each other and become closer and closer. This is my favourite chapter so far.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Some swearing, very briefly mentioned/insinuated childhood trauma, brief amounts of lingering guilt, food mention. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

_Monday, August 27, 1984_

_Knock-knock-knock._

Max frowned as he walked over to open the door. He wasn’t expecting anybody. Nobody knew he lived here apart from his ex-wife and his lawyer.

Ignoring the pit in his stomach, the little voice that whispered _the press have found you_ , Max threw the door open. And there you were, looking equally as hesitant as he felt.

“Hi,” you said quickly, “how are you?”

Max was hardly flummoxed, but right now, that was a good adjective to describe him. It had been a few days since you had last seen each other, since he had come home and discovered that his ex-wife had left Alistair on the steps of the apartment, something he was still very much upset about. But here you were, looking very conflicted about something.

“I’m fine. How are you?” he asked politely.

You nodded absently, your eyes darting around, never meeting his. “Yeah, good. Good.” You bit your lip.

 _Good God, woman_ , you told yourself, _get a grip. It’s not like you’re asking him on a date or anything._

Max’s look of puzzlement deepened. “Is there something wrong?” he asked. “What is it?”

Before you could present him with your proposal, you realized that Alistair wasn’t there.

“Where’s Alistair?” you asked, deviating away from the topic at hand.

Max sighed. “At his mother’s.” The last place he wanted Alistair to be after last week, but he hadn’t had a choice, he explained at your look of shock. The courts had mandated that she have Alistair on certain days of the week and today was one of them.

“I don’t trust her,” you said. “I know I don’t know her. Maybe she’s actually really nice once you get to know her.” _She wasn’t_ , Max thought, but appreciated your apparent willingness to see the good in someone. “But you don’t do that to a kid, not what she did,” you finished.

“I made it perfectly clear that what she did is _not_ to be repeated. Or I would rain hell down on her.”

 _Good_ , you thought. _It’s what she deserved._

“What’s wrong?” Max asked again. “Is everything all right?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you reassured him, “but something you said got me thinking.”

 _I don’t know what I’m doing._

“What’s that?” asked Max.

“I was wondering - and you can say no if you want to - you mentioned the other night that you felt like you didn’t know what you’re doing. And it’s overwhelming. Trust me I know, I still feel like I’m out of my element sometimes.” You were rambling. _Why were you so shy?_

Collecting your thoughts, you continued. “I was wondering if you needed any help. If I can help you get your bearings.”

“You -? You would really do that for me?” Max’s voice was quiet.

“ _With_ you,” you amended. “It’s my week off work, and I know you’ve been struggling, so I thought I would offer.”

If Max was being one hundred percent honest with himself, it was a very moving thing to be asked. It had been so long since someone had offered him something without wanting anything in return. And what made things better is that you were very clearly going to work _with_ him instead of _for_ him.

You waited for his response for a minute, hoping desperately that you hadn’t totally misread the situation.

“You’re sure?” he asked after a moment, “I don’t want to take away from anything you might have planned.”

You nodded. “Of course,” you said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.”

That was the thing about you, Max realized. You never did anything you didn’t mean, were never one to take things in half-measures. If you meant it, you meant it.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. A little part of him still wondered if there was somthing in it for you. That maybe you wanted something in return.

You frowned in confusion, stepping into his apartment. “Because that’s what friends do? They help each other,” you said, again like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And maybe it was an obvious thing.

* * *

Taking in the apartment, you made mental notes as Maxwell tried not to hover too much.

“Can I see your wardrobe?” you asked. “I want to confirm something.” Glancing at what Max was wearing, a dress shirt and dress pants, your suspicions were all but confirmed.

“Sure. Right this way.” Max led you to his bedroom. It was less chaotic than the rest of the apartment, but it still probably needed a dusting and a vacuuming. A couple of boxes still unpacked sat on the floor at the foot of his half-made bed.

Opening the closet, your suspicions were confirmed right away. “I knew it!” you crowed. “Not a single piece of casual clothing!”

Max raised his hands bashfully. “You forget that I was an oil magnate for over ten years. I couldn’t be seen in a t-shirt and jeans.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” you said, before turning serious, racking through the numerous suits he had hanging up. “You probably only need one, maybe two of these.”

He had to agree. It _would_ save him a ton of money on dry-cleaning. The only thing he wasn’t sure of was where he was going to get more “casual clothing” without blowing his budget.

When he voiced this concern, you waved it off easily. “Used clothing stores are a gold mine, Max. And we can get some new clothes for Alistair for school, too.”

The fridge and pantry were next. He had good pots and pans, a wedding gift, he explained. But the pantry was sparse. Pasta, flour, tinned soup. His fridge was equally as sparse. “If Alistair sees another fried egg, I think he might go mad,” said Max.

You pulled a sheet of paper from the junk drawer. “Okay, I have a plan,” you started, writing down the beginnings of a grocery list. “First thing’s first, we’re going to get you and Alistair some new clothes - school starts in a just over a week and it’s always nice to have something new to wear on the first day,” you explained. “Then we’re going to the grocery store to get proper food. Then we’re going to get some lunch, come back here and get started on tidying. Does that sound good?” you asked. You didn’t want to do the work for him, but he needed some guidance all the same.

Not seeing any issues, Max agreed readily. You decided to take Max’s car instead of taking the bus. It would be a lot to carry everything in.

It was _fun_ shopping with Max, you quickly realized. As you browsed with Max, he pulled out one of the tackiest shirts you thought you had ever seen.

“How about this one, huh? I think it goes quite well with my eyes,” he said, grinning widely, holding the shirt up to him.

You nearly doubled over with laughter. “Absolutely not,” you gasped in between bursts of giggles.

“Too right. I don’t want to draw attention to myself.”

Properly satisfied with his real selections, the two of you made your way to the checkout line. Gratefully, no one seemed to recognize Max. It seemed as though most people had forgotten Max Lord and his advertisements. Which, oddly enough, relieved Max. He was so tired of having people recognize him, having him say his famous line from all of his commercials. If he never had to say “Life is good, but it can be better” ever again, he would be a happy man.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” Your question pulled Max from his reverie as you moved up in the line.

Max hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Just… how odd it is to not be recognized as the ‘oil guy’ from the TV.”

You nodded. “That’s fair. It would be a relief if it were me,” you said. “Not having to worry about being someone that you’re not.”

For a minute you worried if you had overstepped _again_ , but then Max nodded in agreement as the sales clerk called the next person in line. “You’re right. It is a relief. Do you know how many times I had to say that stupid slogan if someone recognized me in public?”

“I can only imagine,” you mused softly, “that isn’t really the way I’d want to live, only being known for one thing.”

He had to agree. “Yes, you’re right. It wasn’t the way I wanted to live either. I just wanted to make a better life for myself and give my son the childhood I never got to have,” Max said, his voice strained. “I never expected to be known more for the advertisement than for my aspirations, my goals.”

You sighed, guilt at judging him pre-emptively nibbling away at you. “You’re - you’re a good man, Max. It isn’t wrong to have ambition or want more for yourself and your family. I’m sorry I didn’t see that before.”

Before you could berate yourself any further, Max reached out with his free hand and took yours in his, saying your name in a firm but gentle way. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge.” You opened your mouth to protest, but Max cut you off. “I promise. No hard feelings, okay?”

You could only nod, feeling shy again as the clerk called you up. Max dropped your hand after giving it a squeeze to step forward with his pile of new clothes. It was then that you realized that you missed the feeling of it in your hand.

* * *

New clothes in the laundry and groceries put away, you started to help Max clean the apartment, starting with the unpacked boxes.

“A lot of it is junk,” he warned, “things I no longer have any use for.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured, “that happened with me when I moved out of my parents place. I packed things I thought I would need, but then when I unpacked it, I realized, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this? I think it’s common.”

As you set a box down on the floor with a thud, a cloud of dust burst, causing you to sneeze. “Dusty,” you said, blowing your nose. At Max’s apologetic glance, you waved it off. “Don’t worry, we’ll get this place spic-and-span in no time.”

Max was right, a lot of it _was_ junk. Things that were irrelevant or no longer useful to him. A lot of it ended up in a throw-away or donation box. “We can bring them to Goodwill tomorrow,” you said as you threw a book on the oil industry that Max said he didn’t need anymore into the donate box. “And these boxes can go right into the recycling,” you added, moving into a box of novels. “What about these?” you asked.

Max looked at the box. “Keep those. I usually only keep the books I enjoy. I have a bookshelf in the living room.”

You had seen the bookshelf. It was bare. “Good call,” you said, toeing the box in the direction of the living room.

It was easy working with Max. The two of you formed a little system. It didn’t seem like a chore to clean and go through things with him. When you had unpacked your things, it had been a nightmare. It didn’t seem so bad with Max.

He was good company, you quickly found out. He talked about a lot of different things, his childhood, when he decided to form Black Gold. Alistair. It was easy to tell that Max was a caring and kind man. A man that had been caught up in the want and need to do better, to _be_ better. And that was something that you could understand.

Max was also incredibly easy to tease and joke around with. “Have you ever seen one of these?” you asked, lugging in your old vacuum. He rolled his eyes.

“Of course I have. I just haven’t used one in a while,” he said, taking the vacuum from you.

You held your hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, if you say so. Just tell me one thing.”

“What’s that?” asked Max.

“How do you turn it on?” At the withering look Max gave you, you merely grinned at him mischieviously. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just too easy sometimes,” you said with a giggle.

Max just sighed and rolled his eyes at you before plugging the vacuum in and turning it on.

While he vacuumed, you put the books he was keeping on the shelf before tackling another box with the word _photographs_ written on the side with neat, boxy letters.

The first one out of the box was a photo of a younger-looking Max holding a bundle of blankets, a look of pure love and adoration clear on his face. That must have been the day that Alistair was born. You wiped the dust from the frame with the dusting rag you had at the ready, putting it on an empty shelf alongside the next photograph you pulled from the box - Max and Alistair from a couple of years ago, with matching grins.

There were other photographs in the box. Wedding photos that he probably hadn’t bothered or had the time to get rid of yet. Pictures of him with investors. You put them on the kitchen table to ask him about when he was done with the vacuum.

Taking a sip of water, you looked at the wedding photos. He looked happier than she did. His smile was real, hers was fake. You sighed as you forced yourself to look away from them. You knew very little about the ex-Mrs. Lord, but the more and more you learned about her, the less and less you liked her.

The vacuum switched off. “I think I got everything. Or most of it, anyway,” Max said as he emerged from Alistair’s room with the vacuum cleaner, the cord trailing behind him.

You tore your gaze from the photos. “That’s good. It feels cleaner in here,” you said, “less dusty.” You took another sip of water before continuing. “A few questions about these photos.”

Max took a glance at the framed photographs you had carefully laid out on the table. “What about them?” he asked.

“I kept the ones of you and Alistair; they’re on an empty bookshelf for right now - you can move them if you’d like. But I wasn’t sure about these ones. If you don’t want them do you want to just throw them away and donate the frames? Keep the frames but get rid of the photos?”

He took another look at the pictures, frowning for a moment as he looked at them. “Get rid of the pictures and keep the nice frames but donate the less nice ones,” he said decisively, “I don’t want or need them anymore.”

Into the trash bin they went.

“I don’t think I told you,” said Max as you slumped down on the couch a half-hour later. There was still a lot to do, but you had the rest of the week. The two of you had made a good dent in things. You raised an eyebrow, wordlessly encouraging him to continue. “I got a job.”

You hit him lightly on the bicep. “Max Lord, get out! That’s great! Where is it? When do you start?”

To anyone else, it might be embarrassing, but Max didn’t feel embarrassed when he told you, “It’s a telephone marketing job. It pays well and I work well with people,” he said.

“Well, that’s really great, Max. I’m happy for you, really.”

Max beamed at you. “The hours are good, too. I have weekends off, and I’m almost always here in time to send Alistair to school and to pick him up from the bus stop at the end of the day when I have him.”

You beamed at him. “That’s so wonderful, Max. And listen, if ever you have to work and can’t pick up Alistair, I can one hundred percent take care of him until you get home from work,” you offered.

Before he could ask, “could you?” Maxwell remembered his realization from earlier. If you didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t offer it. “I appreciate that,” he said instead.

* * *

Two and a half weeks later, Max knocked on your door. It was a regular occurrence these days. The two of you had really cemented your friendship over the past couple of weeks. You had helped him learn how to cook simple meals, how to keep a cleaning schedule and a laundry routine. It was nice, being able to do something for someone.

“Good evening,” you greeted. “What’s up?”

“It’s my weekend for Alistair. Usually I have weekends off, but Joe called off sick for tomorrow,” Max started. “I don’t know what your plans are for tomorrow or if you’re busy, but -”

You cut him off, “Not a problem. I’d love to watch Alistair.”

Max was instantly relieved. “Thank you. He has homework to do, but it shouldn’t be too much. I helped him with over half of it, but he’s tired.”

“Not to worry, Max. I think I can handle grade two homework just fine,” you reassured him. “Do you want me to have him over here or over at your place?”

Max pondered this for a moment. “How about my place. I can have lunch ready for him, leftovers from tonight’s dinner. He has a place at the kitchen table where he does his homework and I think he works better in the same place,” he explained.

“That sounds great,” you said, “what time do you want me over?”

“I start at nine, so maybe eight forty-five?”

You nodded. “That’s good. I’ll be there.”

Max smiled at you gratefully. “Thank you. I should be home no later than four.”

That settled, you moved onto a different topic. “What’s on the menu for tonight?” you asked.

“Tamales,” replied Max, “my mother’s recipe.” Noticing your eyes light up with curiosity, he continued. “Would you like to come over for dinner?”

“Oh, I don’t want to impose -” you started, but Max wouldn’t hear your protests.

“I insist. You’ve done so much for me, it’s the least I can do in return.”

Your weak objection quickly overturned, you nodded. “Well, in that case, sure. I was just going to have leftovers anyway. Just let me grab one thing and I’ll be right over.”

New batch of fudge from the shop in tow, you joined Max in the hallway and walked the short distance to his own apartment. “Dessert,” you said at his inquiring gaze.

Dinner was lovely. Max made the best tamales you had ever tasted. “My mother taught me how to cook these when I was just a bit older than Alistair. One of the few things my father allowed her to teach me.”

His gaze was faraway at the mention of his father. You placed an understanding, reassuring hand over his for a moment. He nodded at you, not making direct eye contact for a minute before clearing his throat. “Now, let’s try that dessert you brought over.”

At the mention of dessert, Alistair’s eyes lit up. It was not surprising in the slightest that he devoured the chocolate fudge. He had a sweet tooth. And so it seemed his father as well.

* * *

The following day was uneventful. You arrived at the Lords at twenty minutes to nine, giving Max more than enough time to arrive at work.

You gave Alistair his breakfast before helping him with his homework - multiplication and reading comprehension - making a mental note to tell Max that he was struggling a little bit with multiplication. You could relate. Mathematics was never your strongest subject in school, either.

After a lunch of leftover tamales and some cut up veggies, you and Alistair played. He was such a sweet kid. So easy to get along with and kind. He had a bright imagination and came up with the greatest ideas for games. You had a fondness for him, a fondness that he reciprocated.

“Can we watch TV?” he asked after a while, “ _He-Man_ is on.”

“Sure. We don’t wanna miss that,” you agreed, turning on the television and finding the right channel. Their TV was a lot nicer than your own.

You sat on the couch, Alistair’s eyes glued to the screen as He-Man battled Skeletor. After a while, he snuggled into you. After the show ended, another show you had never heard of started. Glancing down at Alistair, you saw that he had fallen asleep.

Quietly and carefully so as not to wake him, you turned the television off and laid Alistair down on the pillow, covering him with the knitted blanket that usually laid on the back of the sofa.

Walking over to the bookshelf, you scanned Max’s books trying to find a book that you would be interested in reading. A lot of historical and thriller novels. Your eyes landed on _Christine_ by Stephen King. You’d read some Stephen King before, but not this one.

Sitting down in the easy chair, you opened the book and began to read. It was three-fifteen when you sat down to read. Just over two hundred pages in, something fell from near the end of the book onto the floor. A photograph.

Marking your place in the book, you bent down to pick it up before realizing what it was a photograph of.

A younger version of Max. Probably from ten or fifteen years ago. He couldn’t have been older than twenty, maybe twenty-one. He was standing in front of a door, a sign on the wall next to the door that said _Black Gold Co-Operatives._ He held an eager, slightly nervous grin, wearing a shabby suit that was clearly a hand-me-down.

He looked so much younger, the photo dated 1969 on the back. So free of stress and worry, blissfully unaware of what would end up transpiring fifteen years later.

It hit you then. Just how much Max wanted to make a change in his life and have one that had been denied to him. How _desperate_ he was to do better and provide the life that he never had to his son. It made sense now, why he had looked so far away at dinner last night. Why he wanted to prove himself, willing to do anything to prove all those who doubted him wrong.

_You understood._

With tears in your eyes, you hardly noticed the door opening, Max’s tuneless whistling filling the silence of the room save for Alistair’s snores.

He called your name, snapping you to attention. “What’s wrong?!” he asked when he saw your eyes glazed with tears.

Setting the photo down, you marched over to him, and without thinking, threw your arms around him for a hug.

Taken aback for just the briefest of moments, he returned the hug, his arms wrapping around your back. “What is it?” he whispered.

Finding your voice, it was muffled against his neck when you whispered the three words. “I understand now.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until tomorrow to post this, but I couldn’t wait. There are a lot of revelations in this chapter. Some external, some internal. 
> 
> Chapter warnings: Food mention, illness mention (ear infection and a cold and their symptoms), the ex-Mrs. Lord continuing to be the worst, some self-esteem worries.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

_Tuesday, October 16, 1984_

Something had shifted with you and Max after that hug you shared in the cramped entry hall of his apartment a month ago. While the two of you could have been described as friends before, that really seemed to solidify the truth of that statement.

You and Maxwell cared for each other. That much was true. It had been true for a while before you had finally understood why Max had done what he had done in the summer. But now? That level of care had been amplified tenfold. You could truly say that the two of you were friends. _Best_ friends even.

It was rare that you weren’t over at Max and Alistair’s apartment, hanging out. Helping him cook a meal. His goal was to make a perfect Thanksgiving dinner next month, having never done it himself before. Invitations were always unspoken. It just became a force of habit.

On days when Max was working when he had Alistair - which was becoming more and more frequent - you would pick him up from school and help him start on his homework at their kitchen table while the two of you snacked on something and waited for his father to come home. Multiplication drills were still proving a little bit difficult for him, but he was getting better at it with Max’s guidance. Unsurpisingly, Max was a math whiz.

You also noticed that Alistair did better at his homework when he was with you or Max than when he was with his mom. Max had left Alistair in your care while he went to a meeting with the boy’s teacher, Mrs. Walters. The older woman had expressed concern about Alistair’s inconsistently finished homework or the care that had been put into it. There was nothing really that could be done outside of reading the ex-Mrs. Lord the riot act.

Still, when Max returned from the parent-teacher conference, a first for him, he seriously spoke with Alistair. You could hear that Max was proud of his son for doing his best and making the best of a quickly worsening situation. And the promise that he would help in any way he could to make things easier for him.

As you chopped up the vegetables for the chili that you were making for tonight’s dinner, you let yourself think about many different things. What Max would do about Alistair’s schoolwork, his ex-wife more and more frequently shirking her time with Alistair.

As you turned on the tap to start a load of dishes, you almost missed the phone ring from the living room. Running to the phone, you picked it up just before it could go to the answering machine.

“Hello?” you said breathlessly, wishing there was some way to make the phone ring more than five times before going to the answering machine.

A voice you didn’t recognize asked if they were speaking to you.

“Yes…” you said cautiously. “Who’s calling?”

Glancing at the clock, you saw it was one-fifteen.

The woman responded. “It’s Alistair’s teacher, Mrs. Walters calling.”

Your heart plummeted into your stomach. “I-is Alistair all right?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I tried calling his father, but he didn’t answer,” Mrs. Walters replied.

Yes, you did remember hearing the phone ring from his apartment less than half an hour ago.

“He’s at work,” you explained. “He should be home in an hour and a half. What is this concerning?”

Mrs. Walters continued. “I tried his mother as well, but she didn’t answer.” _Of course she didn’t_ , you thought bitterly. “And you’re listed as Alistair’s emergency contact.”

 _You were_? It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. It touched you, how Max trusted you implicitly with his son to the point that he had you listed as an emergency contact.

Pushing away your emotions for a moment, you pressed on. “Is Alistair all right?” you asked.

“That’s why I’m calling. He’s not feeling well. Running a bit of a fever, the poor dear. Very listless, too. Which is uncommon for him. He’s always such a bright boy.” You could tell that Alistair’s teacher was fond of him.

“I can be there in ten minutes,” you said.

* * *

Though you said it would take ten minutes, you arrived in seven.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up Alistair,” you said to the secretary.

“In here, dear,” said Mrs. Walters’s voice coming from the school nurse’s office. Alistair was lying on the small bed, his eyes glazed over. They brightened slightly when he saw you.

You crouched at the bed. “Hey, buddy. Your teacher said you weren’t feeling too good. I’m here to take you home. Your dad should be home soon.”

Alistair nodded. “M’kay,” he said tiredly, his eyes sliding shut. It nearly broke your heart to see him so worn out.

“Thank you so much for coming to get him. It’s recess right now, which is why I’m with him.”

You nodded, putting a hand to his forehead. He was clammy and warm. “Of course,” you said.

“He’s… very fond of you,” Mrs. Walters said. “You’re one of the bright spots in his life. He talks about you all the time.”

Unable to tear your gaze from Alistair, you blinked back tears as you tried to find your voice. “The feeling’s mutual,” you said thickly.

Helping Alistair to his feet, you held his hand as he said thank you to Mrs. Walters. You thanked her, too. She smiled at the two of you. “Feel better soon, Alistair.” The boy just nodded. “Tell his father not to worry about homework,” she said to you.

“All right, honey,” you said as you opened the back door of your car to let Alistair out ten minutes later. He was quiet the entire car ride home. “Let’s get you inside. Your dad should be home soon.” Unlocking the door to Max and Alistair’s apartment with your spare key, you helped Alistair out of his coat and shoes, taking his backpack from him.

“Why don’t you go put your pj’s on and you can watch some TV on the couch?” you suggested.

As Alistair put his pajamas on, you started working on emptying out his lunch box. Usually Alistair did that himself, but he clearly wasn’t up to it. Unzipping it, you saw that most of the snacks and food that had been packed the night before were uneaten or half-eaten. He had seemed fine the night before. Just a bit tired, but he had spent Sunday at his best friend Michael’s house, so you assumed that he was still worn out from playing all day. Clearly not.

Alistair emerged from his room, rubbing slightly at the skin around his ear. “You hungry?” you asked as he settled onto the couch. You pulled the afghan up around him.

He shook his head. “I just want to sleep,” he said. For him to turn down food, he must really be sick.

Glancing at the clock, you saw that Max would be home in just under an hour. “Okay, honey. If you get hungry, just let me know, okay?” You tried so hard not to worry too much. Kids got sick, you told yourself. You could hardly count the number of times you had stayed home from school with a cold or some sort of illness when you were in school.

As Alistair drifted into sleep, you tried to keep quiet in the kitchen as you put the uneaten food back in the fridge or the pantry, throwing out the half-eaten apple and granola bar, the less than half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich.

Before too long, Max arrived home. Clearly not expecting to see you. “Oh!” he exclaimed as he saw you sitting in the chair across from the couch where Alistair was still sleeping. “What’s wrong?” he asked, lowering his voice as you stood to go over to him.

You explained what happened, how the school had phoned and you had gone to pick him up. That his lunch had barely been touched. Max sighed in worry. Just behind you, he placed a hand at the small of your back as he followed you.

“He keeps rubbing at his ear, Max. I think he might have an ear infection,” you said in a low voice.

Max turned to face you. “Shouldn’t we go to a doctor?” he asked.

You shook your head. “From what I understand, ear infections usually clear up on their own after a few days. I think he was unwell yesterday, too. Which is why he was so tired.”

But Max wasn’t convinced. “No, an ear infection isn’t good,” he said, glancing between you and Alistair, who shifted slightly in his sleep.

“How about this?” you suggested, placing a calming hand on his bicep for a moment, “why don’t you monitor him tonight and if he’s not doing better tomorrow, we take him to a doctor?”

The word _we_ went unmentioned, but neither you nor Max missed it. He nodded. “That sounds fair,” he said, “I have tomorrow off work, so I don’t have to worry about calling off sick.”

He pulled his hand away from your back, and instantly you missed his touch.

* * *

There was a knock on the door the following morning just after nine o’clock. Cup of coffee in hand, you opened the door.

“Max,” you greeted your friend, “how are you? How’s Alistair?” you asked.

Max shook his head. “I think he is worse. His fever is a bit higher. I think we should take him to the doctor.”

You nodded. “Probably wise,” you agreed, setting down your cup of coffee on the entry hall table. “Have you called and made an appointment?”

Shaking his head, Max waited as you pulled on shoes and a coat. The kitchen could wait to be tidied. “Not yet,” he said. “They just opened, so I was going to do that next.”

“It shouldn’t take too long,” you said. “They’re usually pretty quick at finding appointments.”

And sure enough, a couple of hours later, you were sitting in the passenger’s seat of Max’s car as Max buckled Alistair in the backseat. As he got into the driver’s seat, you grabbed his hand in your own.

“Hey,” you said, feeling the worry radiate off him in waves, “he’s going to be all right. Kids get sick. I’m sure the doctor is going to take one look at him and say ‘you need to do this and he’ll be right as rain.’” You squeezed his hand in reassurance.

He squeezed back, looking at you gratefully. “I know,” he said quietly, “but I can’t help but worry.”

You understood. You were worried, too, and Alistair wasn’t even your kid. Giving his hand another squeeze, you dropped it to allow him to start the car.

The waiting room was practically deserted. The three of you stepped up to the receptionist’s desk. “I need you to fill this form out for patient information,” she handed Max a clipboard, “and this one for insurance,” she said in a bored tone. Max nodded. “Dr. Graham should be with you shortly.”

Sitting down, Max looked at the forms on the clipboard, clearly out of his element. “Let me do it,” you offered, taking the clipboard from him. Taking a look at the forms, you said, “I need your I.D., Alistair’s I.D., and the health insurance card from your job.”

Filling out the forms was menial. Patient’s date of birth: March 19, 1977, Patient’s name … was not Alistair Lord.

Frowning, you looked at Alistair’s identification card and Max’s. Catching your confusion, Max said, “What is it?”

“Your last name isn’t Lord?” you whispered as you wrote in Alistair James Lorenzano in the patient’s name box and Maxwell Nicolas Lorenzano into the parent/guardian box.

Max inhaled sharply. “No. It’s Lorenzano. I… Americanized it when I started Black Gold.”

You supposed you should have been more surprised. But more than anything, you were sad at the idea of Max thinking that he should change who he was to fit in.

Handing the filled in forms to Max, he brought them to the receptionist who thanked him blandly.

The three of you sat in silence for five minutes longer before the doctor came out and called Alistair’s name. Without even thinking, you slipped your hand into Max’s free one.

Sure enough, Alistair had an ear infection. “Sometimes they need a bit of encouraging to go away,” said Dr. Graham, as he wrote a prescription for ear drops and antibiotics. “But he should be just fine come Monday. I’d advise staying off from school until at least then, maybe Tuesday. I’ll write a note for the school just in case they need it.”

Max exhaled in relief. “Thank you, doctor,” he said as he took the prescription and note from him.

“Of course. You two did the right thing, bringing him in when you did. Have a good day. Ma’am,” he nodded his head towards you as he left the room to go to the next patient.

“See Max?” you whispered, “he’s going to be just fine.”

The pharmacy was next before you and Max could bring Alistair home. The pharmacist took one look at Alistair and rushed the order for the prescriptions.

Out of nowhere, Max visibly tensed beside you, his jaw tensing, something that only happened when he discussed his ex-wife.

“What is it?” you said.

Following Max’s gaze, you saw the woman you assumed to be Vanessa Lord. With her was a man who looked equally as snooty as her. Suddenly she saw the two of you and Alistair, and her already hard expression hardened.

Striding over, the boyfriend right behind her, her eyes landed on her ex-husband. Running a hand through her bleached-blonde hair, she said, “Maxwell, what a surprise! You went back to your old hair! I almost didn’t recognize you. What brings you out amongst…” she shot a glance at you, “… commoners?”

If you hadn’t disliked her before, you certainly did now.

“I could ask you the same question, Vanessa. Our son is sick. He needs medicine.”

Without an ounce of empathy or concern, she said, “Oh, that is _too_ bad. Victor and I just needed to pick up some things for tonight.” She visibly took a step back from Alistair.

And now you knew you actively hated the ex-Mrs. Lord.

Before you could say anything or do anything more than give her a look of contempt, the pharmacist called “Alistair Lorenzano!”

You went up to the pharmacist to collect the prescriptions so that you could hold your tongue as the ex-Mrs. Lord belittled Max for one thing or another.

“Well, it really _has_ been nice getting to meet you, Vicki,” you said, clutching the bag of medicine in one hand, Alistair’s hand in the other.

“It’s Vanessa,” she ground out.

“I know,” you said faux-sweetly, “but we really need to get Alistair home.”

Without giving her any more opportunity to speak, you stalked out of the pharmacy with Alistair, Maxwell taking up the rear.

That night, after Alistair had gone to bed, you stood next to Max in the kitchen as he washed the dishes and you dried. “You’re quiet,” you said, taking a plate from him.

“Just thinking,” he said, running hot water over a glass.

Biting your lip, you didn’t want to pry, but you were his friend as well. “What about?”

Max sighed. “Just… my ex-wife,” he said eventually, “what she said today.”

Setting down the dried plate and towel on the counter, you grabbed Max’s face in between your hands, forcing him to look at you. “Maxwell Lorenzano. Don’t let her, for one second, get to you. Whatever she said, it isn’t true.” He opened his mouth to speak but you gripped his face a bit tighter. “No. Don’t let her in. She’s not worth it.”

Max’s face softened. “You’re right. Thank you. What would I do without you?”

“What are friends for?” you replied, dropping your hands from his face and continuing to dry the dishes.

* * *

_Wednesday, October 24, 1984_

You felt like you had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler. Your head pounded, your nose constantly leaking. A frog in your throat. Eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Ugh, hi Annie,” you said into the receiver of the phone, covering it to cough. “I’m really sorry but I can’t come in today.”

The manager hardly sounded surprised. “I would send you home if you did. Take a couple of days off. We’ll be fine without you,” she said.

Thanking her, you hung up and went right back to the couch. You didn’t know exactly where the cold came from, but you had your suspicions. The symptoms were similar to the cold Alistair had with his ear infection, which was better now. He had gone back to school yesterday.

Grabbing the thermometer, you took your temperature. It felt like you were burning up. Just a touch above a hundred degrees. You groaned. Hopefully it was just a cold and nothing more.

There was a knock on the door. “It’s me,” said Max’s voice.

“Go away, Max, I’m sick!” you said weakly.

“That’s why I’m here,” he said. A minute later, the door creaked open. “Oh, honey,” he said, concern and empathy evident in his voice as he took you in. Disheveled didn’t even begin to cover it.

Instead of answering, you sneezed into a tissue. “I don’t want to get you sick, Max,” you said weakly.

“Nonsense. I was sharing a household with an ear-infected child for the better part of a week and he didn’t get me sick. I’ll take my chances.”

You smiled weakly at him, grateful to have him in your life. “What would I do without you?” you echoed his words from the kitchen last week.

“You wouldn’t have my home-made soup,” he teased, holding up a thermos of the stuff. Though your nose was stuffy, you could still faintly smell it. It smelled divine.

It tasted divine, too. “Thank you for doing this,” you said around a bite of soup. You could feel it opening your sinuses as you drank it down.

“Of course. After all that you have done for me and Alistair, it is the least I can do.”

Swallowing another hearty bite, you asked, “How is he? Is he better?”

“Much better,” said Max. “It was like he was never sick in the first place.”

That was a relief. You hoped your cold wouldn’t last long and you would be up and about in no time flat.

“You should rest. You look tired,” said Max, taking the empty bowl from your lap. He placed it on the kitchen counter before re-joining you on the couch.

“I am tired,” you conceded. “I could do with a nap.”

Lying down on the pillow, you were surprised when Max lay down beside you. “What are you doing?” you asked.

“I’m keeping you company. Unless you want me to go?” He looked unsure of himself.

You shook your head. “No. Stay. Please.” It was a bit embarrassing, how needy you were when you were sick.

Max just nodded. “Close your eyes then, _querida_.” Obeying him, you felt yourself lulled off to sleep in no time by the sound of his breathing, the feel of his hand on your back.

You woke some time later, the ache in your head having vanished. Behind you, Max was still sleeping.

Gazing at him, you thought, _how did I get so lucky with him as a friend_? as you smoothed his brown locks away from his eyes. You smiled softly as he snuffled in his sleep.

You knew that he had long since forgiven you for misjudging him, but you still sometimes felt embarrassed with yourself that you hadn’t gotten to know him before judging. Because you knew with the utmost certainty that the Maxwell on television wasn’t the true Maxwell. And you knew the true Maxwell. Something that not a lot of people, not even his ex-wife, could say.

And you _were_ lucky. So lucky to know the true version of him. To have him in your life. He was so kind, so generous, so _caring_. The way he trusted you and cared for you. And he was handsome and patient and just so wonderful and _good_. The way he was with you and Alistair. And -

Oh. _Oh._

As you tried to drift back to sleep, you kept coming back to the same thought. The same terrifying, wonderful thought.

_You were falling for Maxwell Lorenzano._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I might be a little bit evil with how this chapter ends. Lots of development with these two. And ex-Mrs. Lord continues to reveal just how awful she really is. This is the last chapter with the T rating.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Mutual pining, domesticity, sickness mention, swearing, truly awful parenting by the ex-Mrs. Lord, discussion of bad marriage, food mention, divorce mention, perhaps an almost kiss?
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

As you dozed off on the couch, Max watched you for a while. A small smile crept onto his face as you slept. _God, even when you were disheveled and sick, you were beautiful_. Gently, he smoothed your hair away from your sweaty forehead.

_Did you have any idea just how much you meant to him?_

Max had been intrigued by you after your less-than-ideal first introduction. You saw right through his veneer without any effort at all. He had to admire that about you. For so long, countless people had seen what they wanted to see, ignoring the true version of himself. Even his ex-wife, the woman he never should have married.

The woman who only wanted him for his money, the promises he made to her of granduer and circumstance. What a lovesick fool he had been, too in love with her to see what she really wanted. And it wasn’t the prospect of a long and happy marriage. Max was certain that Vanessa had never truly loved him. Only his wealth. Wasn’t the wedding vow _for richer or for poorer?_

As you slept in his arms, he wondered why he had ever wished for more, when all that he wanted, all that he ever _needed_ was right here beside him?

You let out a tiny snore.

The way you had _helped_ him. Without wanting or needing anything in return. Doing it simply for the sake of being a good person and helping someone out. He couldn’t remember anyone ever helping him without wanting something, some favour, in return.

No, you had simply done it because you _wanted_ to. You could see his full potential. Even though you mostly sat back and gave him guidance once the ball was rolling, you gave him the push in the right direction.

And then there was the way you were with Alistair, the only good thing to come out of his failed marriage. Max knew that you cared for him. Again, you weren’t caring for him because you were looking for something in return other than friendship. You were doing it because that’s what you did. You were doing it because you _wanted to._

 _And that was one of the many reasons he loved you_. He suspected that he’d loved you since the very beginning, but he only realized it when he came home and you told him that you were watching Alistair after Vanessa decided to leave him alone at the apartment.

Max wondered if you knew that he loved you. That he was grateful to you for being his friend when no one else would. For helping him and seeing him for who he truly was. With the way that you interacted with him and Alistair, the way you called him by his birth name without a trace of contempt or irony, the way you were so gentle and caring and kind, he wondered if you maybe felt the same way for him that he did for you.

Lightly pressing his lips to your temple, Max dozed off with that hopeful thought, stirring ever so slightly when you ran your fingers through his hair an hour or so later.

* * *

The next time you woke, you were alone. The couch was still warm from where Max had laid, so he mustn’t have been gone for too long before you woke. Stretching out on the couch, you hummed with content. Though you knew you still had a cold, one that would rear its ugly head at you in a matter of minutes or hours, you felt better.

_Had you dreamed that Max had kissed you on the side of the head or had that really happened?_

As your mind wandered to Max, you couldn’t help but smile dreamily. You had feelings for him. Strong ones at that, too. It reminded you of a crush a teenager would have. The crushes you had had on boys when you were in high school. Only so much more. After your last relationship went sideways a year and a half ago, you’d had attractions, but nothing ever like this.

On some level, you knew you should tell him how you felt for him. You knew that in some way or another, Max likely reciprocated these feelings. But… You didn’t want to burst the bubble that you were in with him. Not yet. Let yourselves enjoy this time of great uncertainty.

You stretched again before you sat up. The clock read three twenty-two. Alistair would be getting home from school soon, that was probably where Max had gone, to greet Alistair off the school bus. He was meant to be going over to his mother’s house tomorrow, but she had cancelled, claiming something about Victor wanting to take her out or something like that.

It wasn’t fair. Not to Max and especially not to Alistair. It really wasn’t. You didn’t know Vanessa Markham Lord well. Only what you had read in the newspaper during the divorce and the less than five minutes you saw of her at the pharmacy in addition to the little that Max told you about her in passing. You didn’t need to know her to realize that she was a horrible human.

There was a note on the counter. Standing up from the warmth of the couch, you padded over to read it. In neat, boxy lettering, it said:

_You looked so peaceful sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you when you needed to rest. Gone to pick up Alistair from school. Leftover soup is in the fridge. Medicine is next to the stove._

_I hope you feel better after our nap. I know I feel more refreshed. I will check in with you later this evening._

_xx - Max_

This was when you wondered if your feelings weren’t one-sided, with things like this. You stroked the words as you re-read them, not missing the way he said _our_ nap instead of _your_ nap. Nor did you miss the _xx_ that he had used to close off his note. You did feel better, and for a number of different reasons. Reason number one being the piece of paper you clutched between your fingers, the man who had carefully written the words that filled the page.

Putting the note somewhere where it wouldn’t get wet or messy, you forced yourself to take the cold medicine that had been carefully poured out for you into the measuring cup. A glass of water sat next to it. Though the bottle claimed it to be cherry flavoured, you wondered if the CEO of the company had ever _tasted_ cherries.

Wincing at the taste that you always compared to motor-oil, you washed it down with the water before going to take a shower and brush your teeth, needing the taste of something, _anything_ , to get rid of the “cherry” flavoured medicine.

The steam of the hot water helped to loosen your sinuses. Cautiously optimistic, you thought that the worst of your cold was over, thanks in large part to your next-door neighbour that you were already halfway in love with, something that was terrifyingly exhilirating.

You would tell him. Eventually

* * *

_Thursday, November 15, 1984_

“Do you have your list ready?” you asked Max as you shrugged into your coat. “I think if we buy most everything this week, we can avoid the rush of people next week.”

Thanksgiving was a week away and Max was determined to make a Thanksgiving feast with as little help as possible. Alistair had never had a proper Thanksgiving meal before, so he was looking forward to having it with you and Max.

For your part, you were going to be the prep chef, helping chop and peel the vegetables. It had been years since you’d had a proper Thanksgiving dinner, too. Not since before your parents got a divorce when you were twelve. You were looking forward to it, too. Though it wouldn’t be like the ones you remembered from your childhood, three people instead of twenty, you knew it would be better than the ones from when you were a kid. 

The prospect of spending it with the man who you were falling harder for with each passing day was one that excited you as well.

You still hadn’t told him how you felt, but you tried to convey it in your actions. The way you would leave lingering touches on his arm or his shoulder. Holding his hand more often. For his part, he would lean into the touches, reciprocate them. A hand at the small of your back, around your shoulder.

It was like you were a couple, without actually being a couple.

Max’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “I think I have everything I need on here. If there’s anything we forget, it should not be an issue.”

“That’s fine,” you said, lacing up your boots. It had snowed last night and it was the first proper snow of the year. “We can always go back out if we need to.”

You missed the way that Max gazed adoringly at you, your back turned to get your hat and mittens. “You ready?” you asked, pulling an invisible fluff from his sweater before he pulled on his own coat and boots.

Stepping out into the snow, you shivered. “It’s freezing!” you said. You noticed then that Max was gazing at you. “What? Do I have something on my face?” you asked self-consciously.

Shaking his head, Max said, “No, you just have snow in your hair.”

“So do you,” you countered, reaching up with a mittened hand to brush some of it from his mop of brown hair.

Without thinking, Max reached up with his own hand and grabbed yours in his, his eyes flickering to your lips for the briefest of seconds before dropping your hand and looking back into your eyes. “Thank you,” he said, “I should really invest in a hat like yours.”

Max’s and your laughter filled the snowy air before too long as you bickered playfully about whether or not he could borrow your hat. “I should not be responsible for your winter woolens, Lorenzano. That’s something you do on your own,” you quipped.

Holding his gloved hands up in mock surrender, Max laughed. “All right, all right. Point taken.”

As you filled the grocery cart with what you needed, Max turned serious. “What is it?” you asked, grabbing a bunch of bananas and placing them next to the apples in the cart, “I didn’t put my foot in my mouth again, did I?”

Max shook his head. “No, no. Of course not. I just - I’ve had an idea. I’ve had it for a while, and I wanted to know your opinion.”

Nodding, you wordlessly encouraged him to go on.

“I don’t want to be a telephone sales marketer forever. While it does pay very well and is a good way to provide for Alistair, it’s not something that I can see myself doing for the rest of my working life,” Max started.

“Of course not,” you said, understanding entirely what he meant. You didn’t want to be an assistant manager at an ice-cream shop for the rest of your life, either. “What’s your idea?”

Picking up a sack of potatoes and placing it on the bottom of the cart, Max considered his words before speaking. “I want to do something good. Something meaningful. Not in business or oil or sales. But a non-profit. For children. Families. So that they may have an opportunity to have a good life.”

Pride swelled in you. Speechless, you just stared at him. “Max…” you said, unable to find the right words.

“It’s something that I am passionate about. Especially since… the summer. I don’t know how to get started, but I have been looking into it. I was thinking I would call it Alistair House.”

Your words caught in your throat. Finally, you were able to find your voice. “I…I think that’s a great idea, Max. Really, I do. It’s - well, it’s perfect,” you said, so quietly that Max had to strain to hear you over the supermarket music.

“You really think so?” Max asked, his face brightening.

“I really do. I think it’s wonderful.”

He beamed at you, relieved that you found his idea so wonderful. Now for the other part he wanted to talk about with you. “Will you help me?” he asked.

“Of course I will. I’d love nothing more than to help you with this,” you said, looping your arm through his for a minute before you continued your shopping.

Forty-five minutes later, the two of you were just finishing unpacking the last of the groceries when there was a knock on the door.

“Expecting company?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

Max shook his head. “No. I wonder who it could be.”

Neither of you were expecting it to be Alistair. “Hey, Alistair,” said Max. He noticed the despondent look on Alistair’s face. “What are you doing here? What's the matter?”

Any remaining light-heartedness evaporated when a lawyer showed up two minutes later.

* * *

“So she’s completely rescinding her custody?” Max asked again as the lawyer explained why he was here. You were hardly paying attention, focused more on the little boy who was playing with his Tonka trucks in the living room. Whose mother didn’t want him any more.

The lawyer confirmed this. “That’s correct. Ms. Markham and Mr. Stanton are moving in together and a child has… well, it doesn’t suit the lifestyle that Ms. Markham and Mr. Stanton are wanting to have.”

You snapped. “Bullshit,” you whispered. You repeated yourself in a louder voice. “Not the ‘right lifestyle’? Give me a break. Alistair is the sweetest little boy you could possibly imagine and then some. How can he not ‘suit’ someone’s lifestyle? That low-life, greedy little wh- Sorry.” You cut yourself off, again not wanting to affect Alistair or insult Max with your choice words for the ex-Mrs. Lord. Especially with a lawyer present.

The lawyer sighed as if in agreement. “It goes into effect immediately. You have full, sole custody of Alistair James Lorenzano henceforth. I just need to you to sign this to confirm that you understand your rights.”

Max sighed. He should have seen this coming, what with the way Vanessa was continuously blowing off her court-approved days, leaving Alistair alone like that. If you hadn’t found him that day… He agreed with what you said. It was true, she was nothing more than a low-life gold digger.

You voiced a question that was nagging at the back of his mind. “What happens if she changes her mind?”

The lawyer looked skeptical. “If, by any chance, she does change her mind, we will cross that bridge when we come to it. But I wouldn’t count on it.” Taking off his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I really am sorry to be the one to tell you. I tried to get her to see the severity of what she’s doing, but really, I think it might be for the best if she has this sort of attitude.”

Silently, you agreed, as much as it pained you, _infuriated_ you to see Alistair cast to the sidelines by his own mother.

Max scrawled his signature on the dotted line. “What about child support?” he asked, “I don’t know if I make enough to best support him on a full-time basis.” It pained him to say it, but it was true.

The lawyer nodded. “That’s one of the conditions of revoking her part-time custody. Ms. Markham will have to pay seven hundred and fifty dollars a month to you until Alistair turns eighteen.”

 _As if you could put a price value on Alistair_ , both you and Max thought. You wanted to wring her neck for doing this. For choosing wealth above her own child.

After the lawyer left, Max glanced at you, his eyes stormy. “I wish I could say I am surprised,” he said, “but it doesn’t make me any less angry at her for doing this.”

“Me, too,” you whispered. “How could she do this?”

Max sighed. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I have my suspicions, but I don’t want to voice them right now.”

You gestured towards the door. “I can go, if you like. Give you two some time alone,” you offered, not wanting to intrude.

“No, stay. Please. Stay for dinner. I’m going to make tamales. They’re Alistair’s favourite.” They were your favourite, too. “I’m just going to talk to Alistair.”

You stood awkwardly in the kitchen, not wanting to eavesdrop on Maxwell and Alistair’s conversation.

Max sat down next to his son. “Hey, Alistair,” he said quietly, gently, “how are you feeling about all this?”

Alistair shrugged sadly. “I don’t know,” he said after a minute. “Why doesn’t mommy want to have me?” he asked.

Sighing, Max weighed his options. “It’s complicated, baby,” he settled on, “but it’s okay to feel however you feel. You can feel sad, you can feel angry. You can even feel relieved.”

His son nodded non-committally, looking at the floor where his toy trucks lay unused for the moment.

“I want you to know something, though,” said Max, drawing an arm around Alistair’s shoulders. “I want you to know that we are sticking together, you and I. You’re my son and I love you. More than anything or anyone in this world, and _nothing_ will change that fact. You know that, right?”

Alistair’s eyes brimmed with tears as he nodded. “I know that, Daddy. I love you, too.”

They sat together, like that, for quite some time.

* * *

_Thursday, November 22, 1984_

Thanksgiving was a more muted affair than you and Max had originally been anticipating, what with the shadow of last week still looming over the three of you like a storm-cloud.

Alistair, for his part, had taken it mostly in stride. Or as much in stride as he could, anyway. He had taken comfort in the fact that he was going to be staying with Max full-time now, and that you were in his life.

One of his friends at school, Christopher, had offered as much support as he could, too. He lived with just his mother after his parents divorced two years ago. Michael, too, had been a really good friend to Alistair.

Mrs. Walters, when Max had told her the following day before school, had been sympathetic but secretly relieved. Max had driven Alistair to school the day after the lawyer had visited, both to fill in the teacher and the office - to remove his ex-wife from the contact form, and to spend time with Alistair.

Now, today, the three of you were preparing for the first proper Thanksgiving that you and Max had had in years and Alistair’s first one as well. You were over at Max’s apartment early, just after breakfast. Having made the pie the night before, you knocked on the door at ten a.m. sharp before going inside.

“Ready for today?” you asked, scooping Alistair into a hug after placing the apple pie in the fridge. You weren’t his mother, but you were going to try your best to be a positive female presence in his life all the same.

You greeted Max with a hug next, kissing him on the cheek before pulling back. “And you, are you ready for hours of cooking?” you asked.

Missing the way he brought his fingers to his cheek where your lips had been, you rolled up your sleeves. “What do you want me to do first, chef?” you asked, standing before him at the ready for his instructions.

Max gestured to the bread and other ingredients for stuffing. “Can you get started on the stuffing while I prepare the turkey?”

After the stuffing was made and the turkey stuffed and in the oven, you began work on peeling the potatoes and carrots as Max chopped them and put them in pots of water. By doing the work now, it would make things easier closer to the mealtime.

Alistair watched as the two of you worked in harmony. The two of you made a good team, an _excellent_ team for that matter. Before too long, the apartment began to fill with delicious smells. Max could only hope that it tasted as good as it smelled.

Max did most of the work, but you were more than happy to help where you could as Alistair watched TV. Running hot water and dish soap in the sink to wash the most recent batch of dishes, Max stopped you for a moment. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?” you asked.

He linked your fingers together. “For helping. For-for being there for Alistair.” _And me_ , he thought but did not say. “For all that you do,” he whispered. Max stepped a step closer towards you.

Swallowing, you looked up into his expressive brown eyes. Giving a subtle nod, you said, “Of course. Don’t even mention it, Max. I love spending time with you and Alistair.” Feeling bold, you lifted your linked hands to your lips, and, without breaking eye contact, pressed your lips softly to his knuckles.

* * *

You were _stuffed_. Groaning as you sat back on the couch after dinner, Alistair in a food coma on his bed, you held your stomach. “I don’t think I’ll eat for the next day at least,” you said, laying your head against the back of the sofa. Max chuckled.

In the background, the evening news was playing on the television at a low volume, but neither of you were paying much attention to it.

You blurted out the question before you could doubt yourself. “Why did you marry her, Max?”

Max exhaled quietly. “Truthfully, I ask myself that question a lot.” He gave a self-depricating look. “I thought we were in love. That she loved me. I had known her from school, but she never paid me much attention. Not until I had started to make a name for myself, had a substantial amount of money in the bank.”

The dots started to connect in your mind. “Max, no -” you said, your heart breaking for the young Maxwell as you started to realize what he was saying.

“Yes. I should have seen it from the start. I only saw what I wanted to see. I should have never married her. Vanessa only loved the promises of wealth, the promises of luxury I made. Alistair was the best thing that came out of that marriage. When the money started to dry up, shortly after Alistair’s third birthday, she filed for divorce.” Max let out a bitter laugh before carrying on. “Next thing I know, she’s dating Victor Stanton, one of the wealthiest men in D.C. Sometimes I wonder if I had done things differently -”

You moved closer to him on the couch, cutting off the rest of whatever it was he was going to say. “What a hateful, horrible woman,” you said, “the fact that she ditched you at the first sign of trouble, the fact that she left _Alistair_ in favour of wealth and luxury? That’s not on you. That’s not a sign of your failure. That’s a sign of her _failure_. Both as a wife and a mother. As a human being. Alistair deserves to be loved unconditionally. _You_ deserve to be loved unconditionally. Not for your wealth or status or name, but who you are as a person.”

Max considered this for a moment. Before you realized it, the two of you had moved even closer together on the couch. So close, you were almost on his lap.

One of his large hands was on your cheek, his fingers splayed in your hair, his thumb stroking your cheekbone just beneath your eye. The other hand rested just below your ribcage, his hands warm on your face and through your sweater. Your hands were gripped on the collar of his button-up shirt, pulling him even closer to you.

His eyes dropped from yours to your lips, lingering there for a long moment before he moved his face closer to yours, pressing his forehead against yours. So close you could feel his breath, warm and smelling of the apple pie from dessert, on your cheeks. Your senses were overloaded with Max, and you never wanted it to stop. You were almost overwhelmed as you realized what was happening, what was about to happen.

It was like you were in a dream, under some sort of magic spell. The rest of the world melted away except for you and Max and the promise of what was about to happen.

Shifting even closer to him, your nose brushed against his, eyes closing in anticipation. You felt your heartbeat in every part of your body, your thoughts fuzzy except for this one thing that was about to happen. You could feel his lips closing in on yours, millimetres away, about to kiss you -

“Daddy?” Alistair’s voice sounded small and frightened from his bedroom door.

The two of you jumped back from each other as if burned as Alistair shuffled out into the living room, blinking the sleep from his eyes, the spell between you and Max broken for the time being. “What is the matter, Alistair?” Max asked, shooting you a hard to read look as you forced yourselves apart.

Alistair walked right up to his father, completely oblivious to what he had just interrupted. “I had a bad dream. Is it okay if I sit with you guys for a little while?”

Max smiled up at his son. “Of course. Come under the blanket and we can watch _Charlie Brown_.” He pulled the blanket down from the back of the couch and draped it around the three of you before switching the channel and turning the volume up.

Though he was far enough away from you that you couldn’t feel his breath on you, his hands on his lap, you could still feel Max radiating in your direction, neither of you able to focus on the show.

It took a very long time for yours and Max’s breathing and heartbeats to return to a normal pace as you continued to glance at each other for the remainder of the night, the events that had almost transpired never far from your minds, the unspoken promise of “this isn’t the end of this” hanging between the both of you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: That rating has gone up! The smoulder between these two is about to turn into a wild fire. This is what it’s been building towards.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Swearing, mutual pining, kissing, asking for consent, non-descriptive sexual content
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

_Wednesday, December 19, 1984_

“Can you answer that?” Max shouted from the bathroom over the running water. The phone was ringing and he was expecting a call from a potential board member for his non-profit, which was quickly gaining momentum.

“On it!” you shouted back. “Hello?” you said into the receiver.

Whoever it was, it wasn’t the prospective board member. “Is Max there?” the woman on the line asked.

“He’s in the shower, may I ask who’s calling?” you asked, picking up the pen next to the pad of paper on the table to take a message, picking up your mug of tea.

The woman made an “ _ohhhh!_ ” before carrying on. “You must be Max’s new girlfriend!”

You nearly choked on your tea. “C-come again?” you sputtered.

“Yes, Alistair talks about you all the time!” the woman said.

You glanced at the boy in question, diligently working on his division homework. “Does he now?” you said, your heart pounding in your ears at the thought of being considered Maxwell Lorenzano’s girlfriend.

_The two of you still hadn’t even kissed properly yet._

It had been a long month of getting together a presentation for the right people to approve the non-profit, get investors, a board of directors together. Max had already picked out a spot for Alistair House, an old community centre that had been out of use for a while.

You’d helped where you could, getting together information and calling potential backers and partners. It was a lot of work, but it was well-worth it. You were officially Max’s partner in it now.

But in all of the time spent together, you and he had not had a single kiss together yet. It was almost silly at this point. But your mutual displays of affection otherwise had only increased since then. And there had been almosts since that night on his couch, which were always interrupted by one thing or another.

The thought of being considered his girlfriend, before you and he had even shared a kiss, or even spoken your feelings for him, though? You couldn’t help but smile.

Before you could say anything else on the matter to this mystery woman, she introduced herself. “I’m Hannah Rogers. Michael’s mom. I don’t know if Alistair has mentioned it to you or his father yet, but it’s Michael’s birthday on December 28.”

“So soon!” you said, “no he hasn’t mentioned anything about it yet.”

“I thought not. We just finalized it a little while ago what he wanted to do and I wanted to call to confirm everything before school lets out for Christmas tomorrow. Michael doesn’t want anything big. Just a couple of his friends from school for a sleepover. Alistair, Christopher, and Brian,” explained Hannah, “though how much sleep they’ll actually get is another question.”

You laughed along with her. “Yep, I remember sleepovers from when I was a kid. Light on sleep.”

“I don’t know what your plans for the holidays are, but if he’s available, we’d love to have him at Michael’s birthday,” said Hannah.

Biting your lip, you thought about what your plans were for the holidays. Max had invited you for Christmas dinner and you accepted. Your mom was at her sister’s and your dad was going to Florida with his wife. It would be low-key again, but you were looking forward to it. “I don’t think we’ve got anything going on outside of Christmas Day. Let me just talk to his dad and confirm, but I think it should be all right.” You knew your wording made it sound more and more like you were Max’s girlfriend, but you didn’t care. The two of you, it seemed, were a team in pretty much everything.

Hannah was all right with that. “Perfect. No rush. You can let us know at the fundraiser on Saturday night.”

That sounded good to you. “And you’re sure it’s still okay that Sam watches Alistair for Max that night?” you asked. 

“Absolutely. Michael’s looking forward to it.”

You chatted for a few minutes more before you said your goodbyes. Though you didn’t know Hannah Rogers that well, she seemed like a nice woman. Someone you could see as being a friend.

“Who was that?” Alistair asked as you hung up.

Walking over to where Alistair was seated at the kitchen table, you pulled a chair out to sit down. “Michael’s mom. She was inviting you to Michael’s birthday after Christmas.”

Alistair looked excited. “What did you say?” he asked.

“I said no, absolutely not and to never call here again,” you teased, laughing at Alistair’s stricken expression. “No, I said that it should be okay but your dad needed to confirm it.” That relieved him. “Mrs. Rogers said something interesting as well. That you said I’m your dad’s girlfriend?” You made your voice as light as possible.

Alistair nodded shyly. “What makes you say that, honey?” you asked. You weren’t mad. Just curious.

“You make each other happy. I’ve never seen him be so happy before. And he looks at you the way that Michael’s daddy looks at Michael’s mommy but only _more_.”

_Damn kid was so intuitive._

* * *

“You’re quiet tonight, _querida_ ,” said Max after dinner, his thumb stroking your knuckles.

You blinked up at him. “Am I?” you asked, “just thinking.”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “Nothing bad, I hope,” he said. Warmth floated through you at his gestures.

Shrugging, you said, “No, nothing bad.” _Just how I think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend without even realizing it._

 _Were_ you Max’s girlfriend? With each passing day, the answer seemed to point more in the direction of yes. You knew you had feelings for him, that he had feelings for you. But was it a fleeting thing? Was it always going to stay at this _almost_ state that it had settled into after Thanksgiving? You truly weren’t sure.

If you were honest, you _could_ see a life with him and Alistair. And that didn’t frighten you as much as you thought it would. The only question was, did he feel the same?

Before you could question things any longer, you decided to do something about this _almost_ state.

Shifting yourself so that you were facing Max, you started to lean in, noticing him do the same. Your eyes had just fluttered shut, ready to meet his lips with yours.

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Your sigh was almost anguished as you and Max were forced apart yet _again_ by the telephone.

“I need to get that,” Max said apologetically. You nodded.

Trying to tell yourself that he _needed_ to answer the phone (it was the prospective board member getting back to him), you couldn’t help but feel a sting of rejection, whether intentional or not.

Deciding that you’d had enough for tonight, you gave Alistair a goodnight hug before quietly leaving the apartment, Max still on the phone. It sounded like good news. You elected to ignore the quizzical look that Max gave you before you could slip out the door.

You had to work at the shop the next morning, slipping out before Max could get a chance to stop you on his way to bringing Alistair to school before going to work himself. It was the first time in months that you had not seen him before going to work. You shook your head, telling yourself not to be so dramatic.

“How’s your television guy?” Annie asked towards the end of your shift. “Usually you can’t shut up about him, but today not a peep.”

She was right. Usually you had some anecdote or something to talk about. You sighed slightly. “He’s fine,” you settled on.

Annie arched an eyebrow, saying your name in a serious matter. “What did he do? Do I need to kick his ass for you?” she asked.

You snorted in surprise. “No, no! Nothing happened.”

“Then what’s the problem?” asked Annie, her brows knitting together as she passed you a box of fudge.

Gesturing vaguely, you said, “That’s just it! _Nothing_ has happened. We’ve almost kissed God knows how many times, but we keep getting interrupted. And we’re acting like I’m his girlfriend and it’s just so _domestic_ with him and even his kid has picked up on it.”

Annie just raised an eyebrow. “Damn, you’ve got it bad,” she laughed. “What? It’s true. You love this guy.”

“I wouldn’t go _that_ -”

“Ah-ah-ah! No talking when I am giving sage advice,” Annie faux-scolded. “It’s clear as day that you two idiots really care about each other. And that’s really fucking beautiful.”

That shocked you. Annie was usually very cynical about these sorts of things. “You think so?” you asked.

“Fuck yeah!” she said around a bite of fudge, “do you know how long it was before Ian and I first kissed after realizing our feelings for each other? Six months.”

Your eyes widened. You hoped it wouldn’t be that long for you and Max or you would go insane.

“I know. What I’m trying to say is that things get in the way. Interruptions happen. It’ll happen sooner or later,” Annie reassured you. “It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen.”

You sighed. “I just - I feel like -” Pausing, you thought of a way to best describe how you felt.

“I know, kid. I know. I felt that way, too,” Annie said. “Just _be_ with him and just... See what happens. Don’t force anything,” she suggested. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, your shift ended five minutes ago. So, unless you want to keep working without being paid, you can get out of here.”

You smiled at your boss before gathering your things. “Thanks, Annie. I’ll see you at the fundraiser this weekend?” you asked.

She nodded. “You know it!”

Taking her words to heart, you headed out the back door and into the lightly falling snow, feeling better already..

* * *

_Saturday, December 22, 1984_

“It’s freezing!” you shivered as you walked hand-in-hand with Max to the car after dropping Alistair off at the Rogers’. Michael’s older brother Sam would be watching the two of them.

It was snowing and freezing cold. If you didn’t have the fundraiser benefit to attend, you would just be spending a night in with a hot drink and some good company. The company was sitting beside you in the drivers’ seat.

The last couple of days had been interesting to say the least. It wasn’t awkward with Max, it never was. The feeling of rejection, though fleeting to begin with, had vanished entirely. Something in the air between you had changed. Things were going to change soon, you were sure of it.

Blasting the heater, your teeth chattered. “You’re not cold?” you shivered.

Max smiled at you fondly. “Yes, it is quite cold,” he said, squeezing your hand in his to warm it up. “Don’t worry, _querida_ , I will make sure you are warm,” he promised, a dark twinkle to his eye that sent a different, more enjoyable shiver down your body.

Smoothing your dress, you chuckled. “Do you think we will raise a lot of money?” you asked. You had what you thought to be a good raffle prize in addition to the money from ticket sales and the meal going, in part to the fundraiser.

“I hope so,” Max said, pulling into the parking lot of the newly renovated community centre. It looked _amazing_. Max had worked so hard on it over the past month. While you had helped, this was Max’s brainchild and he deserved to see it succeed.

His hand still in yours, you lifted it to your lips, slowly kissing across his knuckles. “I am so proud of you, Maxwell Lorenzano. I hope you know that.”

“I do.” Max closed his eyes, willing his emotions to stay in check. He couldn’t show up to his own benefit fundraiser emotional. He wanted so desperately to kiss you. But he knew if he kissed you at this exact moment, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

He’d wanted to kiss you as badly as he knew you wanted to kiss him. He should have let the phone call go to the damn answering machine the other night and just kissed you until the both of you were breathless. Soon. He would make it up to you. Max wanted to kiss you as soon as possible, and something told him that it would be sooner rather than later.

“Ready?” you whispered, referring to the fundraiser.

Max nodded. “Yes,” he said, referring to kissing you, deepening your relationship.

Eyes flicking to each others’ lips for just a fraction of a second, you pushed the car door open, squealing as the snow and wind swirled around, gripping tightly to Max as he led you inside.

People were already starting to show up. It would be a good time, you just knew it.

“I have to play host and mingle,” Max whispered to you, fear evident in his voice.

You touched his face reassuringly. “You’ll be just fine, Max. I believe in you,” you whispered.

Leaning into your touch for a moment, Max nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Though you were not as good as mingling and playing host as Max was, you still managed to get several potential contacts interested in investing or donating. The bowl of raffle tickets was stuffed to the gills before too long.

It was a simple fundraiser, so unlike the ones that Max had attended even six or seven months ago. It was more fun than the last one he had been to. He was more himself. He was happy, genuinely having a good time, not wanting to manipulate anyone or anything. And the sight of you laughing at a joke that Hannah Rogers had told made him smile.

You glanced over at Max who was talking to Diana Prince, who had unexpectedly shown up. She smiled at him genuinely, pleased to see that he was doing so well, noticing the way that he kept gazing at you. “You love her,” she said simply.

Max didn’t even bother denying it. He hadn’t denied it to himself and he knew that she would see right through it. He nodded. “I do.”

Diana smiled wistfully. “Then why are you over here talking to me and not with her?” she asked.

He really didn’t have an answer for that, opting to just stand there.

“I really am glad for you, Max. You’ve done well for yourself,” Diana said by way of farewell, stopping at the treasurer to drop off her significant donation.

You glanced at Max speaking to Diana, a wistful look on both of their faces. She noticed you and smiled kindly at you. Annie winked at you discreetly as if to say _what did I tell you?_

It was nice to see Maxwell in his element like this. It wasn’t who he really was, you knew that, but it was a glimpse at what he was like as a business-man. Not Max Lord oil magnate business-man, but Maxwell Lorenzano business-man. Eager and optimistic.

He was so kind. So generous and caring. Putting others before himself. The way he looked out for you and cared for you, you thought, smiling to yourself as you watched him regale a small group of people with a story.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks while you were finishing your dessert, Max beside you, his arm drawn around your shoulder as he talked about how you were a life-saver for him when he had had to downsize.

 _You loved him. Like really, truly loved him_.

Max must have noticed the shift in your body language, for he turned to look at you, faint concern etched into his handsome features. “Are you all right?” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours.

Words caught in your throat, you nodded. You were perfect.

* * *

People were starting to leave when Max offered you a tour of the place. Even though you had seen it in every stage of the renovation.

You had your own office, next to Max’s. It even had a connecting door. You were assistant director, Max’s right hand woman. You picked up a photo on Max’s desk. It was one that you had taken, your own copy at home. It was of Max and Alistair in October when the three of you had gone to the park for the day. Max was wearing a brown jacket, holding Alistair in his arms. Alistair was pointing at the camera. Both of them were grinning like nothing else.

There was another framed photo on the other end of the desk, another one that you had a copy of at home. One of the three of you taken right after. Someone had offered and you didn’t want to say no.

_The three of you looked like a family._

The three of you _were_ a family, you realized, rather belatedly. In some way, the three of you had become a little family. Setting the photo down on the desk, you brushed the tears away from your eyes. You really loved this man. More than you had ever loved anyone else in your life.

You turned around to see Max staring at you like you had given him the moon.

“Max,” you whispered.

He said your name in response and then his lips were on yours.

 _Had the two of you kissed a million times before and you had just forgotten it?_ With the way his lips felt right at home against yours, you were inclined to believe so.

Your arms looped around his neck, his wrapped around your torso, pulling you close to him. Sighing against his lips, you opened your mouth, allowing his tongue entry.

Breaking the kiss, Max breathed your name again before kissing you again.

He kissed you slowly. As if getting to know you.

Resting his forehead against yours, he brushed some phantom thing away from your cheek, finally finding his voice. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he said hoarsely. You nodded against his forehead in agreement.

The two of you kissed once more before Max led you to his car. It was getting late and he knew that Alistair was waiting for you. “Come on, _querida_ ,” he said quietly, taking your hand in his.

Hannah and Frank were already home when you arrived at their place to collect Alistair just after nine-thirty. He was tired but ready to go home to bed. It was past his bedtime.

“It was a lot of fun,” Hannah said as Max picked up his son. “Alistair was well-behaved.”

Max nodded in appreciation. “Thank Sam for me and have a good evening. Thank you again for coming tonight,” he said.

Hannah nodded. “We’ll see you on the twenty-eighth,” she said, “have a good evening.”

The car ride home was quiet, Alistair sleepy in the backseat. Before too long, Max had pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine.

“All right, baby, we’re home,” Max whispered as he opened the backseat door. “Time for bed.”

Opening the door to his apartment, you waited as Max tucked Alistair in. It didn’t take long. Your lips still tingled from his kiss. You smiled at the memory of it.

“Out like a light,” said Max as he came out of Alistair’s room, shutting the door behind him quietly.

He sat down on the couch next to you and before you knew it, he was kissing you again.

“You,” he breathed in between kisses, “are so beautiful.” He kissed you like it was the last time he would ever kiss again.

Weaving your fingers into his hair, you pulled him closer, needing to make up for all the interrupted kisses, needing to rectify all the time you had wasted.

“Max,” you half-whined half-whispered as you wiggled against him, wanting - _needing_ \- to be closer. “Max, _please_.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes as glassy as yours as he realized what you were asking him. “Are you sure, _mi amor?_ ” he asked seriously, “because I want nothing more. But I can wait until you’re sure.”

You kissed him gently, your hand cupping his cheek. “Max, we’ve already waited long enough,” you said. “I’m sure.”

Max took you in his arms, hoisting you up against him as he carried you to his bedroom, his lips never too far from yours.

As he pressed himself into you, you thought that there was nowhere else you would rather be than where you were right now, in Maxwell Lorenzano’s arms.

Three words hung between you, not yet verbalized, but felt in every action and movement either of you made.

 _I love you_ , your lips pressed against his seemed to say. _I love you_ , your hands in his hair whispered. _I love you_ , his gentle movements suggested. _I love you_ , his lips attaching themselves to any part of you they could find murmured.

* * *

You could hardly keep your eyes open. Max had an arm draped around you, holding you close to him, the two of you tucked up in bed.

“I’m sleepy,” you muttered.

Max kissed you again, slowly, languidly. “Stay, _mi amor_. Stay with me.”

You nodded, already feeling your eyes close again. “Okay,” you whispered. 

The next thing you realized, it was morning. An arm was wrapped around you, a face buried in your neck. You ached between your legs. Memories of the night before flooded back to you.

Smiling slightly, you opened your eyes to see Max still asleep. You shifted as best you could in his hold so that you could face him. You pressed a kiss to the base of his neck. His jaw.

Max began to stir. You kissed his nose. The little dimple in his cheek that only became more pronounced when he smiled.

He kissed you. “Good morning,” he whispered, voice thick with sleep.

“Morning yourself,” you said, kissing him again. You could do this forever and never get sick of it.

You stayed like that for a while until your stomach began to protest. Max raised a playful eyebrow at you.

“Guess I’m hungry,” you giggled. “I should probably get something to eat.”

Max stilled you before you could get out of bed. “Stay for breakfast. Please.”

Breakfast with Max and Alistair sounded nice, very nice. “All right. But I’m going to need something to wear,” you said as Max got up to make breakfast. Alistair would be up soon.

Max was just flipping the pancakes, Alistair watching some cartoons when you emerged from the bedroom wearing an old sweatshirt and a spare pair of pajama pants.

As the three of you sat around the table eating and laughing, both you and Max thought the same thing as you shared a smile.

_I never want to go back to the way things were before last night._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter I’ve been waiting for the most! This is the point of no return for these two. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Kissing, implied/referenced sex, swearing, alcohol mention, food mention, parents/divorce mention, reader celebrates Christmas, non-descriptive sexual content.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

Max and you sat at the kitchen table after breakfast, his hand on top of yours. The same question lingered in both of your minds.

_So now what?_

It wasn’t awkward by any means. Just an unsureness, lingering around you like a wisp of cloud on an otherwise clear sunny day.

The memory of what had happened last night played on a loop in your mind. What you had done. How comfortable and easy it had been. Like a weight had been lifted. You didn’t want things to go back to the way things had been before last night.

But based on the way Maxwell was looking at you, the two of you were more or less on the same page as far as what you wanted.

“So -” you started.

“I was wondering -” Max began at the same time. You both paused and giggled.

“You first,” you said, nodding at Max to continue.

Max nodded before inhaling slightly. “I was wondering… if I could take you on a date. Like a proper one.”

Of all the things you had been thinking he would say, being asked out on a date was low on the list. You were afraid that he was going to ask if you wanted to keep things the way they were, foolish an idea that it may be.

“A-a date?” you stammered. At your slightly stunned look, Max panicked.

“If you don’t want to - i-if you just want to keep things… casual that’s okay, too -” he stammered.

You shook your head, waving your hands in protestation. “No, no, no!” you reassured him. “No, I want to! God, do I want to. I just - I wasn’t expecting to be asked so soon after… well after last night.”

Max nodded in understanding. It had been so long since he had done this properly; he was out of practice. He’d never properly asked Vanessa out. Barbara had been a _dalliance_ at best and a means to an end at worst. And before that, it was not exactly smooth sailing when he had been at school, too focused on bettering himself.

It was endearing to you, his nervousness. He was so keen on asking you out, you couldn’t help but smile. Reaching out with your free hand, you brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, dropping your hand down to cup his cheek.

“I’d _love_ to go out with you, Maxwell Lorenzano. Though I have to ask…” you trailed off, only leaving him in suspense for the briefest of moments.

“Yes?” Max was quick to respond. You laughed again, not at _him_. Just in general. Deciding not to leave him in suspense for too long.

“What do you mean by ‘proper’ date?” you asked, “have we gone out before and I just don’t remember it?” you teased.

Max shook his head. “No, no. I just meant that… It’s silly, really.”

Stroking his cheekbone with your thumb to get his attention, you said, “Max. I’m sure it isn’t silly. What is it?”

“Well, we just spend a lot of time together and our excursions feel like they could almost be dates,” he explained.

Something squeezed in your chest. _Oh_. “That isn’t silly at all, Max,” you whispered, “I feel that way, too.” Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and kissed him gently.

Max lifted his hand from yours and cupped your own cheek with his large, warm hand, deepening the kiss. He sighed against your lips, a sigh of complete and utter contentment.

It was so _easy_ to kiss this man. Smiling against his lips, you pulled back for a moment before giving him one last peck, a kiss on the cheek.

“I… Where are you taking me?” you asked once your breathing was back under control, your face still inches from his.

He caressed your face. “Let me take care of that. Leave it to me, _querida_. I was thinking the night Alistair is at Michael’s birthday party?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yes, that works for me.” Even if it didn’t work, you would make it work, the desperation to go out on a date with this man urgent and strong against your ribs.

“Good,” Max whispered, capturing your lips against his for another kiss. “I just,” he said in between kisses, “want to.” A kiss to your lips. “Keep doing.” A kiss to your jaw. “This.” A kiss to your lips.

Your breath hitched as you said, “Me too.” You moved your hands to the collar of his t-shirt, a red one that you had chosen for him, pulling him closer to you. Neither of you could keep your hands - or your lips for that matter - to yourselves, and you wanted it to stay that way.

 _God, you loved this man_.

* * *

 _Tuesday, December 25, 1984_

“Merry Christmas,” Maxwell whispered in your ear, waking you from your slumber. The bed was so warm with him next to you. It had been a cold night last night, and today was proving to be not much warmer.

You whined. “’S early,” you grumbled as Max’s lips attached themselves you your cheek. Blindly, your fingers tangled themselves in his hair as he found a particular spot, just where your neck met your jaw.

“I know, but isn’t it better being woken up this way, compared to a seven year old jumping on the bed?” Max asked as he moved down your neck.

Mumbling an agreement, you let Max wake you up in a more favourable way. “Time is it?” you asked as he moved back up your neck and onto your face again.

“Just after six. I figure we got about half an hour tops before Alistair wakes up.”

You smiled a sleepy, playful smile at him. “D’you wanna risk it?” you asked coyly, your mouth moving ever so closer to his.

“With you, _querida_ , it’s never a risk.” He kissed you deeply, moaning slightly at the way your lips responded to his, even in this early morning.

But before you could get too invested, the tell-tale sign of Alistair waking up interrupted you.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe later,” you said in an undertone, snuggling up in the blankets.

“It’s Christmas!” Alistair shouted by way of greeting when he swung the door to Maxwell’s bedroom open, none the wiser to what he had interrupted.

His enthusiasm was contagious. It reminded you of when you were a kid on Christmas morning. “It is!” you exclaimed. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart!” you said, hugging the boy tight.

“Merry Christmas, my son,” said Max fondly as Alistair moved to hug him as well.

As warm as the bed and the person who shared it with you was, you knew that the three of you had to get up and move to the living room where the tree was, laden with presents.

Money was still a little tight for Maxwell, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t buy Christmas presents for his son. They weren’t extravagant gifts like years past, but they did have a lot of thought and effort put into them. Some of them were practical, like a bell for his bike that he was going to learn to ride properly once the snow melted, some clothes, but also some toys and some games as well.

Though you had been told that you didn’t need to get either Max or Alistair anything, you did buy Alistair a few presents as well. Some paints and a copy of _The Hobbit_. “I read it when I was maybe a year or two older than you, and I think you will really like it,” you said. Alistair was pleased.

“I thought you gave me your gift last night,” Max teased in a whisper, with a dark look and a squeeze to your hip as he ripped the wrapping paper off. You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing as he turned his attention to what you had gotten him. It was simple. A framed photograph of you, him, and Alistair that you had taken yourself a few weeks ago and a photo from the first day working at the non-profit. Max was speechless for a moment. “I… this is wonderful, _mi amor_. Thank you,” he said.

You nodded wordlessly before kissing his cheek. “I’m glad you like them,” you said.

Max handed you his gift for you. “I wasn’t sure what to get you and you said that you didn’t want anything but I saw it and I couldn’t help it,” he said as you unwrapped it. A long black velvet box.

“Max, you didn’t blow your budget on me, did you?” you whispered.

He shook his head. “Even if I did, it would be worth it for you and Alistair,” he said, urging you to open it.

It was a necklace. Delicate yet simple with a sun and moon charm. You were speechless. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you had ever seen. “Max…” you breathed.

“Is it too much?” Max worried. “The lady said I could return it easily.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s not too much. I love it. It’s beautiful. I love it,” you repeated.

 _I love you_ , you thought as you kissed him in gratitude. _I love you so much,_ you thought as he helped you put it on.

“Beautiful,” Max said, referring to you more than the necklace, pulling you in for another kiss.

After breakfast, you excused yourself so that you could call both of your parents to wish them a merry Christmas.

“Your aunt Margaret wonders why you aren’t here!” said your mom. “I told her you were spending it with that man you’re so fond of.”

You sighed internally. “That’s part of it, yes,” you said, “but I just wanted a low-key Christmas.”

It was always interesting to say the least speaking with your mother. Not that you didn’t get along with her, but she could be… a lot sometimes. You knew she just wanted you to be happy, but it was a lot easier talking to your dad. He wasn’t as high-strung as your mom was.

After chatting with your mom for your obligatory ten minutes, wishing her and her sister a merry Christmas you hung up and groaned before dialling your father’s number.

 _That_ was a lot easier. You were closer with your dad than you were with your mom. He was more low-key, like you. He’d taken it in stride when you told him about Max.

You couldn’t help but think about Max as you spoke to your parents. How easily the two of you got along. It was very early days yet, but you knew that it was a strong relationship that you had with him. You saw him for who he really was, something that wasn’t usually an easy feat.

Hanging up after wishing your dad and Amelia a merry Christmas, you returned to help Max with dinner, feeling more joy and comfort in his and Alistair’s company than you ever had felt at any of your family gatherings in previous years.

* * *

 _Friday, December 28, 1984_

Alistair dropped off with gift in tow (Star Wars action figures and trading cards), you and Maxwell made your way to the restaurant for your date.

 _A date. With Maxwell Lorenzano_. Part of you thought that this would never happen. If you were to tell yourself five months ago that you would (a) fall in love with him and (b) go on a date with him, you would have laughed and slammed the door. But here you were.

You weren’t too sure still where it was Max was taking you, he was keeping it a secret until you got there, you dressed nicely, just in case. Fiddling with the necklace he gave you in one hand, you held his hand with your other as the two of you walked down the street.

The restaurant came into view. It was a new Italian restaurant. One that had been getting rave reviews for its simple yet delicious recipes and authentic atmosphere.

Holding the door open for you, Max rested his hand on the small of your back. “I have a reservation for two, Lorenzano,” he told the hostess.

She scanned the reservation list, looking up with a smile. “Right this way,” she said, leading you to a more secluded section of the restaurant.

“This is so nice,” you breathed as you hung your coat on the rack a few feet from the table.

It was quiet for a Friday. Most people were probably still celebrating Christmas with their families.

A waiter arrived at your table just as you were sitting down. “Good evening, sir. Madam,” he greeted, “can I interest you in something to drink while you look at the menu?”

Max ordered a bottle of red wine for the two of you, asking the waiter for his opinion. It impressed you.

Alone for the moment, your hands connected with his across the table. “Hi,” you said with a smile.

“Hi,” he replied with a grin of his own. He stroked your knuckles with his thumb.

The waiter was quick returning with two glasses and the bottle of wine. “Here we are,” he said, setting down the glasses and pouring the wine expertly. “I’ll give you a few moments to peruse the menu.”

Conversation flowed freely with Maxwell, as it always did. You had been a bit nervous that you wouldn’t have anything to talk about since you saw each other on a daily basis. But the topics came easily and you spoke about a great number of topics.

As you speared a piece of gnocchi on your fork, a question that you had had since you first learned what his true name was slipped from your mouth. “Why did you change your last name to Lord?” It wasn’t asked in a nosey way, you were just genuinely curious.

Max thought for a moment. No one had ever asked him that question before. “I thought I needed to, in order to make a name for myself. I tried as Lorenzano for a little while when I first started Black Gold,” he explained, “but nobody took me seriously.”

That made you angry. Angry and sad. You squeezed his hand. “Fuck them,” you whispered. “They didn’t see how passionate and smart and eager you were - how you still _are._ A name shouldn’t be indicative of someone’s character, their work ethic,” you said gently. “It should be someone’s character, who they are as a person that defines them.”

Max nodded absently before the realization struck him like a freight train. _You saw him_. _Really and truly saw him for who he was_. That was something so few people had managed to do in the past fifteen-plus years he had been in business.

He was about to open his mouth to say that he loved you when the waiter returned the table, having seen the empty plates. “Any room for coffee or dessert?” he asked.

Max looked at you with a questioning brow. You shook your head. “I’m good. That was delicious but if I eat another bite I might just explode,” you said.

“Just the check please,” requested Max.

* * *

There was a tension between you as you walked hand in hand back to the apartment complex. Not a _bad_ tension, but the sort of tension that comes before something life-changing.

Attempting to diffuse the tension, you joked, “Are you going to walk me home?” as you arrived at your floor.

Max kissed you. It was different than all of his previous kisses. The most similar you could compare it to was your first kiss at Alistair House. It was tender. Soft. Loving. His hands moved from your hips up to your ribs, just beneath your breasts.

He whispered your name, almost questioningly, as you pulled back for a moment, chasing your kiss with his. He repeated your name.

Bursting into his apartment, you couldn’t keep your hands or your lips apart from each other. “Max,” you whispered as he moaned against your lips before he led you to his bedroom.

Taking extra care, he was slow taking off your dress, pressing open-mouthed kisses to each part of skin he slowly revealed.

This was different, too, you realized as Max eased himself into you with a low, satisfied groan. It wasn’t just sex tonight. _Max was making love to you_.

As you lay next to him after, your chest pressed against his back, playing with his hair, you couldn’t keep the words to yourself any longer. It didn’t matter if he didn’t repeat them, you couldn’t keep them hidden and locked away; it wasn’t fair to keep them. They were begging to be shared, to be set free.

“Max,” you whispered, kissing the base of his neck between his shoulders. He was quiet but you knew he was still awake. “Max,” you repeated, stroking a line down his spine with your index finger. He shivered slightly at the sensation.

He turned to face you with a sleepy smile. “ _Querida_ ,” he said fondly, “what’s on that brilliant mind of yours?”

Without any preamble at all, you said what had been on your mind, in your _heart_ for a very long time. “I love you.”

There was a moment of quiet contemplation after you had said them, allowing the words to settle around you like falling snow. Nice and soft, with an undercurrent of magic. He didn’t even have to say it back right away. You had said the words you had wanted to say for so long and felt better for doing so.

It was so easy to say the words to him, you weren’t sure why you had waited so long to say them in the first place. So you repeated them, half so you could say it, the other half so that he could hear them again. You rested your forehead against his, allowing him to consider your words, wondering if he would accept them, for you had given them to him to do with what he pleased.

Maxwell didn’t say anything for a long moment. He lifted a hand to stroke your cheek, pressed his lips to your forehead, so tenderly it made you want to cry. “I love you,” he echoed to you, his voice full of affection and emotion, relieved that he could say it, overjoyed that you shared his affection. “I love you so much, _mi amor._ ”

He kissed you gently, as if worried that you were made of porcelain and would break if he handled you with anything other than gentle care. Not so much that you were delicate. More so that you were _cherished_ , you noted as you snuggled into him. He was so warm, a protection against the cold of the world.

The two of you slept. At dawn, you woke. Beside you, arm draped around your hip, Max still slept. Very carefully, you slipped out of Max’s embrace, kissing his collarbone with featherlight lips. Draping a blanket around you to shield yourself from the cold, you moved to the window, allowing Max to sleep a bit longer. You didn’t notice that he had been stirring.

Looking out the window, you took in the colours of the slowly rising sun painting the sky with swaths of blue, pink, orange and purple. From behind you, warm, strong arms wrapped around your waist, lips at your neck.

“Good morning, _mi amor_ ,” Max whispered as he peppered kisses along your neck.

You sighed happily. “Good morning, Max,” you said, turning so that his lips landed on yours for a long, languid kiss.

“Come back to bed, _mi corazon._ I’m not finished showing you how much I love you,” said Max, taking you by the hand.

“That’s interesting,” you quipped with a sly grin, “because I don’t think I’m finished showing you how much I love _you_ , either,” you replied before pulling him onto the bed with you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: This chapter has a little bit of angst! There will be one more chapter and then the epilogue after this chapter!
> 
> Chapter warnings: Food (meat/dairy) mention, implied/referenced sex, swearing, kissing, discussed age difference (reader is 5-8 years younger than Max), domesticity, briefly mentioned parental abandonment, the ex-Mrs. Lord being the worst and trying to cause trouble, a little bit of (resolved) angst.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

“I don’t want to go home,” you said around a piece of bacon some time later. If your apartment could even be considered your home any longer.

Max stroked your arm gently, and with a soft smile, said, “Then don’t. You can stay as long as you’d like.”

Everything and nothing had changed since your confirmation of your feelings last night. You had given him your heart to do with as he pleased. It wouldn’t have mattered to you if he hadn’t responded. You hadn’t needed a response. But he had responded in kind. Confirming that he reciprocated your love had been the easiest thing for Maxwell Lorenzano to do. He loved you, as you loved him, with all that he had and more.

Swallowing your bacon, you caught his lips with yours for a soft kiss. You cradled his face between your hands as though you held the world in them.

You rested your forehead against his, placing your hands one on his shoulder, the other on the back of his neck. “Don’t tempt me. I might just take you up on that offer,” you said, half-teasingly. Your thumb absently swirled abstract shapes into the skin of his neck.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Max whispered. He kissed the spot between your eyebrows before pulling back, looking at you fondly. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, “where’d that smile come from, pretty girl?”

You were wearing an old sweatshirt of his alongside a pair of flannel sleep pants. You smirked coyly at him. “I’m just so happy,” you sighed dreamily, your smile only growing. “And you’re biased,” you said, taking a sip of coffee.

“I’m happy, too. And it’s true, I might be a _little_ biased” Max said, smiling at your raised eyebrow, “but you’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. Inside and out.”

The teasing grin you were sporting dropped from your face, replaced by a look of tender contemplation. Shifting on the bed so you were impossibly closer to him, you wordlessly wrapped your arms around Maxwell. It was true that you saw him for who he really was, but he also saw you for who you really were, too. To know Maxwell was to love him.

Resting your head against his shoulder, your face buried in the soft crook of his neck, you breathed him in, aware of his hands on your back.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

You sighed gently, contently. “I love you,” you replied, pulling your face away from his neck so that you could kiss him again.

Exploring Max’s lips with your own was very quickly becoming one of your favourite things to do. He was so soft, so caring, yet so passionate and lively.

Max deepened the kiss, his fists curling in your (his) sweatshirt, pulling you onto his lap. Breaking the kiss, he moved his lips to your cheek. Tilting your head for ease of access for Max, you sighed languidly as his lips moved down to your neck, every so often nipping and scraping your skin with his teeth, knowing exactly what affect he had on you.

“Maxwell,” you breathed as your fingers moved up into his hair, lightly twisting in his brown locks.

Before you could go any further, your stomach growled loudly. Max pulled away with a smirk. “Much as I would like to continue this right now, we should eat. We’ve really worked up our appetites.”

Gently easing yourself off Max, you picked up another piece of bacon. “This is really good,” you said, taking a bite. “Where did you learn how to cook so well?” you teased.

Max smirked. “It does taste good, doesn’t it?” He rubbed his hand over your thigh, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I can think of a few things that taste better.”

You nearly sputtered on your coffee.

* * *

_Saturday, March 23, 1985_

“Come on, Alistair,” you said taking the boy’s spring jacket from the hall closet.

Alistair shoved his feet into his shoes. “Where are we going?” he asked as you zipped his coat up for him.

Slipping on your own coat, you said, “To the mall. It’s your Dad’s birthday in just over a week; we need to get him some birthday presents.”

He beamed. He had just lost a tooth last week, giving him a gap-toothed grin. “Won’t Daddy wonder where we are when he gets home from work?” he asked as you stepped out of the apartment, locking the door behind you.

Max always worked one Saturday a month to keep up to speed. Usually it was a half-day on weekends. He hadn’t wanted to go today, wanting to spend the misty early spring afternoon curled up on the couch with you and Alistair.

The mall usually wasn’t a place you went to very often. You didn’t really have a need to go, but what with officially moving in with Max and Alistair next month, you wanted to get something to commemorate that as well as get something nice for his birthday.

You smiled at the memory of Max asking you to officially move in to his apartment a few weeks ago; it had been so simple and natural:

“Have you seen my hoodie?” you had asked as soon as you swung the front door open, pressing your lips to his cheek in greeting. “Hi,” you whispered before kissing him on the lips.

Max chuckled as you stepped back. “It’s here, _mi amada_. Along with half of your belongings.” At your sheepish look, he waved away your concern. “Move in with me, _querida_. You practically live with me already. I want you here. Alistair wants you here. It does not make sense for you to be going back and forth between this apartment and yours. Stay with me, with us,” he said, taking your hand in his.

It had crossed your mind many times before now. It didn’t make sense to you, either, to be going back and forth. You practically lived at Maxwell’s anyway. And your apartment no longer felt like your home. Lifting his hand to your mouth, you ghosted your lips across his knuckles. “Okay,” you said.

“Yeah?” Max said, releasing his hand from your loose grip, moving it to your cheek.

You leaned into his touch for a moment before nodding, unable to keep a giddy grin from your lips. “Yeah. I want to.”

Max pressed his lips to your forehead. “Good. I’m glad we have that settled.”

Giving his shoulder a light squeeze, you nodded in agreement. “Me, too,” you said, meeting his lips for a kiss.

“What are you smiling about?” Alistair asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

Drawing an arm around him, you said, “Just thinking about your dad. And officially moving in with you guys.”

Alistair grinned, but before he could say anything, the bus pulled into the mall parking lot. “We’re here!” he said, reaching up to pull the stop request cord.

Stepping off the bus, Alistair jumped into a puddle. Unable to stifle your laugh, you said, “Come on, kiddo. We don’t have a lot of time before your dad gets home. And I wanna get home before that thunderstorm we were promised rolls in.”

* * *

It was easy to find a birthday gift for Maxwell, both you and Alistair. You were sitting on a bench, people-watching, before you started looking for something to mark your official moving in with Max, when you saw _her_.

Vanessa Markham. And she saw you and Alistair, too. Before Alistair could pick up on what was happening and see her come over, an idea struck.

Before you could implement it, however, she and her boyfriend, had made it to the bench you were sitting at.

 _Fuck_ , you thought to yourself as the ex-Mrs. Lord preened, “Alistair, baby! How are you? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” as though she had been on a long vacation, and hadn’t signed away her parental rights. Alistair shrunk into himself, not looking the woman who gave birth to him in the eye.

“Alistair, sweetie? Why don’t you go get us some ice cream?” You pulled a ten dollar bill from your purse. “I’ll take a single scoop of chocolate in a cup, please.”

Vanessa’s fake smile dropped the moment Alistair had walked in the direction of the Baskin-Robbins. “I have a right to see my son!” she hissed.

“Actually, Vicky, you don’t. You signed that right away, remember? Because I do. Maxwell does. And Alistair certainly does,” you said venomously. “Does November 15 ring any bells for you?”

Max’s ex-wife scoffed. “Victor has _money_. And he doesn’t like kids. You understand,” she said dismissively.

“Actually, I _don’t_ understand. That’s what makes us so different, Vicky. I love people for who they _are_ , not for their bank statements. You’re his _mother_ , you could have put your foot down and said, no, he’s a priority in my life. But you didn’t. I _almost_ feel sorry for you,” you said. 

It wasn’t a lie. You did almost feel bad for her, but her actions and her values made it impossible for you to actually feel true sympathy for her and her backwards values. Your eyes flicked over to the Baskin-Robbins where Alistair was ordering ice cream for the two of you.

“Clearly, or you wouldn’t be with my failure of an ex-husband otherwise. How _are_ Maxwell’s bank statements these days?” The ex-Mrs. Lord rolled her eyes.

Fury coursed through your veins at every word she spoke. “Funny. Of the two of you, I wouldn’t call Maxwell the failure in that marriage.”

Vanessa sputtered, trying to find an argument to stand on. “Well, you know, he’s only with you because of your age. He likes feeling younger than he really is.”

You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from snarling at her that she knew nothing about you and Maxwell, refusing to give her the satisfaction. Instead, very calmly, you said, “Does your dear Vincenso know that you’re only with him for his money?”

The ex-Mrs. Lord’s face turned even more sour. “Mark my words,” she hissed, “you’ll find out like I did, just how much of a waste of energy and time it is with Maxwell Lord. Once he can’t provide for you anymore, you’ll see.”

You just rolled your eyes. “Do you tell yourself whatever you need to in order to sleep at night and live with yourself after how you treated your ex-husband and son, you gold digger?”

She scoffed, and dragging Victor by the hand, stalked off, just as Alistair arrived, carefully balancing his ice cream in one hand and yours in the other. Sighing, you thanked Alistair as he dutifully handed you your ice cream.

The two of you sat in companionable silence, neither of you commenting on how he had slipped his hand into yours. “I’m sorry, honey,” you said eventually, setting your empty cup on the bench next to you, “I’m sorry that - that she was here. Are you all right?”

Alistair nodded. “It’s okay. Do I… have to see them again? Ever?” he asked quietly.

“No, sweetheart. You don’t have to see them again. Not if you don’t want to,” you promised. “Do you wanna go home?” you asked, “your dad will probably be home soon.”

“What about your warm house gift?” Alistair asked.

“The housewarming gift? That can wait,” you said, “I just want to go home and curl up on the couch and read a book, don’t you?”

Alistair nodded again. He wasn’t as deflated or unsure as he had been a few minutes ago. And he didn’t let go of your hand the entire way home.

* * *

“What did my loves get up to while I was at work?” asked Max, kissing Alistair on the forehead before kissing you on the lips. “Hi,” he smiled at you as you pulled him in for another peck on the lips.

“Hi, yourself,” you said, nuzzling your nose against his, “how was work?”

“Boring. How was the mall?” he asked, sitting down on the couch next to you.

You hesitated for a moment before settling on, “Well, we got what we were looking for, didn’t we, Alistair?” He nodded quietly, too invested in the picture he was colouring to make a committal response.

Later that evening, once Alistair had gone to bed, Max asked you, “What happened today at the mall?” He had noticed your hesitation in responding to his earlier question.

You chewed your bottom lip. “We saw your ex-wife.”

Maxwell’s eyes widened. “I see…” he said, “and how did that go?” He already suspected the answer.

“Not great,” you admitted, “Alistair wouldn’t even look at her.” You told Max how you had sent Alistair to get ice cream so that he wouldn’t have to interact with his birth mother, his question to you after he had returned with the ice cream. Alistair would be fine. Especially with the knowledge that he didn’t have to see her again if he didn’t want to.

“What did she say?” he asked. “I know she said something to upset you, you’ve been quiet all evening.”

It was true. Even though you tried not to, her words had gotten to you. You were well aware that Max was turning thirty-five in just over a week. That you were younger than him by under ten years. It wasn’t a considerable age gap between you and Max, and it had never really bothered you until now. It still didn’t bother you.

What upset you even more was that she thought that you were going to leave Max at the first sign of trouble. How she viewed him.

“She said…” you sighed, considering your words, “she said that you’re only with me because of my age. That I make you feel young.”

Max frowned. “That is completely untrue,” he assured you.

“I know,” you said. And you did know. “There’s more. She said that you would leave me or I would leave you when we had served our purposes and had nothing else to give.”

A stray tear slipped down your cheek; Max caught it with his thumb, wiped it away tenderly. “ _Mi amada_ ,” Max said, pulling you onto his lap, so that he could look you in the eyes. “I promise that will never happen. She just wanted to get you upset. To pit us against each other and have the last laugh. That will never happen.”

Running your hands up and down his sides, you nodded. “I know that, Max. I do. And I promise it will never happen on my part, either. It just… it hurts to hear someone talk about you - about _us_ \- with nothing but scorn and contempt. She said that you wouldn’t be able to provide for us.”

Max swallowed. It was still a point of pride for him that he was able to provide for his family, something he staunchly saw you as being a part of. “I’m sorry she said such horrible things to you. It was a smart decision, sending Alistair for ice cream. What did you say, _amor_?”

“I held my tongue for most of it, but… I called her a gold digger,” you muttered, “I couldn’t help it, and quite frankly, she deserved it and a lot worse.” Max couldn’t even _try_ to hide the grin that twitched at the corners of his lips.

He pressed them to your forehead. “That’s my girl,” he said.

You kissed him. “You know I don’t care about money and wealth and grandeur or any of that bullshit, right? That I’m happy with you as you are?” you asked.

Max nodded. “I know that, honey. I know. And you know that our difference in age isn’t why I am with you?”

It was your turn to nod; you did vigourously. “I know, Maxwell, I know.” He kissed you again, slow and languid.

“What do you want?” he asked hoarsely, with no desire for power or control or capital; he genuinely wanted to know what you wanted.

Running your palms across his sides again, you angled your lips so that they were right at his ear when you whispered your response to him. “Just you.”

* * *

Lying next to Maxwell in the bed, your head on his chest, he whispered the words that would always be true. “I love you.”

You smiled against the skin of his shoulder before shifting so that your voice wasn’t muffled when you responded. “I love you, too. So much.”

You had been gentle with each other tonight, more gentle than normal. Needing to show one another just how much you meant to each other.

“I’m so happy I found you. That you helped me,” Max said.

You smiled gently. “That was all _you_ , my love,” you said, pride evident in your voice, “I just gave you a nudge in the right direction. But I’m happy we found each other, too. And that we helped each other.” You kissed his rib to accentuate your point.

Fingers dancing slowly on your bare shoulder, Max sighed. “If you had told me eight months ago that this would be my life, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

You nodded. “I know. Me, too.”

Max couldn’t help but ask, worried that he was ruining the mood. “Are you sure it doesn’t matter to you that I can’t… That we can’t have a life of luxury?”

He had wanted so badly to expel his ex-wife’s falsehoods and mistruths from both your minds. And they were mostly gone, but as always, Vanessa’s words had a way of lingering with him after they had been spoken. Even, it seemed, when he wasn’t there to hear them first-hand.

He wasn’t doubting you. Not in the slightest. He could never doubt you.

Lifting your head, you looked the love of your life in the eye straight-on. “Maxwell Lorenzano. You know me better than that to really ask it, right?” It wasn’t asked in anger. No, quite the opposite. Your voice was gentle, soft. You had no anger in you for Max. Only for his ex-wife.

Max nodded. “I do know you.” The same thought he’d had many times before flitted through his mind _. If you didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t say or do it_. “I know you, and I love you.” To know you was to love you.

You weren’t even that upset compared to how you had been feeling all afternoon, allowing it to stew and fester. What upset you more was how you had allowed the words to get to you, when you _knew_ they had no basis in reality. They never would.

More than anything, it made you sad. Sad that Max had married this woman. You weren’t jealous. That wasn’t why you were sad. You were sad because of the fact that he’d had to endure this for four years on an almost daily basis.

“You’re happy, right? Because I’m happy - more than happy - with you. How could I not be happy being with you? You _do_ provide for me and Alistair. In more ways than I can count,” you said. “You care and you’re attentive and you’re kind and you always put me or Alistair before yourself. You’re a _good man_ , Maxwell. You take care of us in ways that money could never. We shouldn’t let the words of a bitter, hateful woman come between us, not even for a second.”

 _Not that they ever would_ , you thought to yourself. But it was still good and important to say them, so that you were sure that you were on the same page as Max; going off the nod he gave in response, it was clear that you were of the same mindset. More important were the words you spoke next. “I see you, Maxwell. I know you. For who you really are. You’re - you’re the love of my life.”

If you had more to say, you never spoke them. Max’s lips found yours for a gentle yet frenzied kiss. He was desperate to convey again just how much you meant to him, how much he loved you.

“I’ve never been happier,” Maxwell said hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion, “as I have been with you. You and our boy.”

Fresh tears filled your eyes. Nodding, you said, “Me, too.” The three of you were a family. That wasn’t news to you. It had been that way even before you had confirmed your feelings for each other. But hearing Max call Alistair _our_ boy… it just hit you differently. It made it more real than it had already been.

The two of you fell into a deep, cleansing sleep. Tomorrow you would bring over the rest of what you were keeping of your things. It would be the easiest move of your life.

As you welcomed the warm embrace of sleep for the night, Max’s arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close to him, you felt lighter. Confident in your love with him. And ready for this next chapter of your life with Maxwell Lorenzano.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter before the epilogue! A lot happens in this chapter, including a certain comeuppance that is a long-time coming! 
> 
> Chapter warnings: Fluff, domesticity, kissing, swearing, implied/referenced sex, non-descriptive sexual content
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

_Thursday, September 12, 1985_

You hadn’t meant to find it. It had been a complete and total accident. The ring had been found in Max’s sock drawer while you were putting fresh laundry away. And now it felt like your heart was going to burst from your chest.

It wasn’t that you were surprised to find the engagement ring; you and Max had discussed marriage a few times over the summer. It was more that you were ruining the surprise of his proposal.

You thought back to when you and he had taken Alistair to the summer fair, meeting up with a few of his friends and their parents in early July, just after Independence Day. You couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed that much or that hard.

The ferris-wheel had gotten stuck right when you and Max were at the top, giving you the best view in the fair grounds.

Pulling you closer to him, Max said, “Have you ever given it any thought?”

“Given what any thought?” you asked, nuzzling your nose against his. It was a perfect opportunity to make out with him while far below you, the ride operators fixed the problem.

“Marriage,” replied Max simply before meeting your lips with his. Your kiss was shorter than you anticipated as his response worked its way through your ears to your brain.

You pulled back, Max preparing himself for rejection. Seeing the resignation on his face, you stroked his cheek softly, voice a little louder than a whisper when you responded. “Not until I met you.”

And he kissed you again, soft and tender and gentle. You smiled against his lips. “I love you,” you said in between kisses, “and I want to spend my life with you, no matter what that looks like.”

You’d had the conversation a few times since then, always agreeing on the same thing: you wanted to spend the rest of your lives together but were happy with where you were for the time being.

A sudden realization pulled you from your memory.

 _Shit._ He was going to take you out for dinner tomorrow while Alistair was at his friend Christopher’s for the night. _Was he going to ask you then?_ You couldn’t tear your gaze away from the small diamond on the ring. Maxwell was going to be home any minute now, you needed to put it back -

“ _Mi amor_?” You groaned silently as Max’s voice filled the apartment. “ _Mi amor,_ I’m home.”

You had a few options. Either wait and pretend to be surprised, or tell him what you found. Dishonesty had never sat well on you, and you were a terrible actress when it came to pretending to be surprised.

Max came into your bedroom just as you were debating what to do. Setting the ring box down on the dresser, you stepped into his embrace and met his kiss. Your kiss was passionate, as if telling him your answer before he even knew what he was asking.

 _Yes. A thousand times yes_.

You knew without a shadow of a doubt that you wanted to marry this man. As you pulled back, Maxwell could feel the hesitation and apprehension radiating off you in waves.

“What is it, _querida?_ ” he asked.

 _Now or never_ , you thought to yourself. “I was putting your clean socks away,” you started, “and I didn’t mean to - I found -” You picked up the small velvet box and placed it in Max’s hand.

Max didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I see,” he said finally.

Before he could say anything else, you barrelled on, a mile a minute. “I know we-we talked about it a few times and you probably wanted it to be a surprise and I’m sorry I ruined the proposal.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t ruin anything, _mi amor_.”

You kept going, “But I want you to know what my answer is. What it’s always been. I know it’s not how you wanted it to be done. But my answer, if the question is still on the table, is yes.”

Yanking yourself away from Max gently, you stared at him for a moment, the wheels turning in his head as he processed your words.

It was your turn to prepare yourself for rejection. “Okay,” you whispered, turning to the laundry basket that had been discarded on the bed. But the rejection never came.

“ _Mi corazón_ ,” Maxwell whispered tenderly. You turned to see him, kneeling down on one knee, the box open. “I never thought I would have such joy or love in my life again, but I have found both those things with you. I know we haven’t been together that long, but I know what I want and it’s you. I love you. And I want to spend my life with you. It does not matter how I ask, so long as it’s asked. Will you marry me?”

You knelt down in front of him so that you were at eye level when you gave your response. “ _Yes_ , Maxwell Lorenzano. I will marry you.” Tears of joy slipped down your cheeks as he slid the ring onto your finger before scooping you up in his arms and kissing you over and over again, your laughter and affirmations of love mingling together in the air.

* * *

“Alistair’s going to be home soon,” you said as you lay next to your fiancé, the two of you coming down from your collective highs, the late afternoon sun streaming in through the window and warming your skin.

 _Fiancé._ You smiled to yourself at the thought of being engaged to Maxwell.

Max noticed your smile, met it with one of his own before he kissed you on the forehead. “I’m the happiest man in the world,” he said.

You took his hand in yours and kissed it. “And I’m the happiest woman in the world,” you replied. His lips met yours.

Fifteen minutes later, as Max was re-buttoning his shirt and you were shimmying back into your jeans, a question came to you. “When are we going to tell Alistair?”

“I told him I was going to ask you a week or so ago,” Max said, “but to keep it a surprise.”

Suddenly Alistair’s squirrely behaviour made sense. You chuckled to yourself as the pieces fit together.

You bit your lip. “And he’s… okay? With us getting married?” You knew that Alistair loved you, but you also knew it could be tricky having a parent re-marry.

The look on Max’s face was the only answer you needed. “He was _thrilled_ when I asked him. He loves you, _querida_.”

“I love him, too,” you said.

Just as he was about to pull you in for a kiss, the door opened, alerting you to Alistair’s presence. “I’m home!” he shouted as you and Max stepped out of your bedroom.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said, welcoming Alistair’s hug with one of your own. “How was school?”

“It was good. We are starting to learn about dinosaurs in science class!” Alistair said with clear enthusiasm. His eyes dropped to your hands, sizing in on the ring on your left hand.

His eyes widened. “You asked her, Dad! I thought you were waiting till tomorrow!” he said, unable to keep the excitement from his voice.

 _I knew it!_ you thought to yourself as Max said, “I just couldn’t wait any longer, son. I needed to know the answer.” He winked at you discreetly.

“When are you going to get married?” asked Alistair, “will you have a big wedding? Who will you invite?”

You and Max smiled at his excitement. “We haven’t decided all that yet, kiddo,” you said. You glanced at your soon-to-be-husband fondly. “But I think we can both say the sooner, the better. Right, Max?”

Max nodded. “As soon as possible,” he said, taking your hand in his. Neither of you could wait to be married.

For the rest of the night, you kept looking at your engagement ring, twisting it on your finger, making sure it was real. And it was. The ring wasn’t big or flashy by any stretch. Just a simple diamond. But you loved it. It was perfect.

Every time Max caught you admiring his ring, he smiled. He couldn’t believe his luck. That he had found you, that you were in his life. He could have never expected that this would be his life.

Though it was not long between you getting together and becoming engaged, the timing felt right to the both of you. You both knew what you wanted, that you wanted to spend the rest of your lives together.

It wouldn’t be a long engagement, you both suspected. You wanted to get married as soon as you could.

As you leaned up to kiss Max on the jaw, you smiled into it, unable to contain your excitement and your joy at the thought of one day soon being Mrs. Lorenzano. And as he took you to bed, you made him full certain that you loved him with all that you had.

Maxwell still took you to dinner the next night. It had been a while since the two of you had been able to have a date night, and now, you could celebrate your new engagement.

“How about a springtime wedding?” you suggested as you took a sip of wine.

He nodded. “That would be nice. Do you mind particularly if we have it be small?”

Shaking your head, you said, “Not at all. I’d elope with you if we could.”

The thought struck you at the same time as it struck Maxwell. “Why don’t we?” he asked, taking your hands in his. “We could get married, just the two of us and the minister and Alistair. And then we can have a celebration later. Unless you want to have a proper wedding?”

You shook your head again. “So long as it’s with you and Alistair, it _is_ a proper wedding,” you said. “I don’t think it’s a surprise that I don’t want a big wedding. I just want to be married to you.”

“Me, too,” said Maxwell, squeezing your fingers with his. “I had a traditional wedding and it wasn’t what I wanted.” The wedding or the wife.

You leaned across the table to kiss him over the basket of garlic bread. “We’ll think it over and come up with a date that we can get married,” you promised, stroking his cheek absently with your thumb.

The two of you left it at that for the time being, promising to come back to it later tonight or tomorrow. Instead you talked about anything that came to mind. It was always so easy to talk to Max, even before the two of you got together, you were always chatting about this thing or that. His hand never left yours the entire night.

* * *

After dinner and dessert, Max took you home and took his sweet time pressing slow kisses down your body, relishing the feeling of you as you sighed and moaned in appreciation. “I love you so much,” he said against your collarbone, shuddering as you pressed your lips to the spot beneath his ear that you knew he loved.

“I love you,” you gasped as he sucked a mark on your neck. “I need you,” you panted, practically begged.

“You have me,” Max promised, “forever, I promise.”

Later, as you were laying half next to Max, half on him, drowsiness set in. “I’m really comfortable right now,” you said, sleepily kissing his chest.

“Go to sleep, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” Max reassured, kissing the crown of your head.

When you woke, Max was gone. The bed was still warm, so he couldn’t have gone far. The smell of coffee hit your nose. “Max?” you said.

You could hear him groan as he pushed the door open with his back. “I was hoping to wake you with breakfast in bed,” he said, carrying a tray laden with food. The newspaper and a single daisy in a glass of water was on the tray as well.

“What’s all this?” you asked as he set the tray on your lap. He kissed you on the lips before getting back into bed next to you.

“Can a man not just bring breakfast in bed for the woman he loves?” Max replied.

You picked up the coffee, that he knew just how you liked. Taking a sip, you closed your eyes. “Mmm… Thank you, my love,” you said before beginning the small feast laid in front of you.

Once you were finished, you skimmed through the newspaper, commenting on this headline and column or that. But then you found it. “Babe,” you said, patting his arm to get his attention.

“Hm?” he said, meeting your hard-to-read gaze.

You gestured to the newspaper. “Look at this,” you breathed. The article read:

**_**Multi-millionaire Victor Stanton Goes Bankrupt, Arrested on Charges of Money Laundering** _ **

_Technology mogul Victor Stanton has been arrested on charges of money laundering. Late on Friday night, police officers made the arrest, hours after his business, Vision Technology, announced its bankruptcy after years of financial boom. Before the bankruptcy, Stanton was reported to be worth an estimated 1.7 billion dollars._

_Officers have reason to believe that Stanton was involved in money laundering for the better part of seven years. The arrest follows a two-year investigation into the company and its owner._

_“Stanton showed his hand to us without even realizing it,” said arresting officer Kevin Clancy, “it was only a matter of time before we got to him. We have a strong case against him and we have every confidence that he will be found guilty when he stands trial.”_

_Stanton, who is engaged to Vanessa Markham, formerly Vanessa Lord, is expected to stand a preliminary trial on October 18. If he pleads not guilty he will stand trial, which is the expected course of action at this time. Markham claims she had no idea that this was happening. Stanton will remain in custody until his preliminary trial._

As you finished reading, you and Max stared at the page, as if willing it to give you more information.

“I can’t believe that Vanessa allowed him to be around Alistair,” Max said finally.

“Maybe she didn’t know?” you offered; you wouldn’t put it past her to be oblivious to what her fiancé was really doing.

Max shrugged. “Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past her, to be honest.” You couldn’t help but smirk softly to yourself at him voicing your thought.

“I wonder what’s going to happen?” you mused.

* * *

Vanessa, try as she might to distance herself from him, was stuck with Victor. They had a combined bank account, one that she could not easily extract herself from.

You couldn’t feel too sorry for her. She made her bed, now she had to lie in it.

For your and Maxwell’s parts, you continued on as you had been, focusing on your upcoming marriage and on Alistair.

You and he had settled on a date to get married, October 11, which was only a few days away.

Again, Alistair had been sworn to secrecy until you had returned from the honeymoon. Only he and Hannah and Frank Rogers - who were watching Alistair while you and Maxwell went on your honeymoon - knew what was happening. You had told Alistair’s teacher and work and everyone else who needed to know that you were going on a trip, just the two of you. And if you happened to return with a wedding band accompanying your wedding ring? You didn’t even have to lie to say that you couldn’t wait to get married.

The evening of October 10 was quiet, reflective almost. The two of you had decided that the night before your wedding would be a normal one. You helped Alistair with his science homework before the three of you huddled on the couch to watch a movie. _The Return of the Jedi_ was on TV.

“Do you think they will ever make more Star Wars?” asked Alistair about halfway through the movie.

You shrugged. “Like a sequel? Maybe, you never know,” you said. “Or maybe a movie that takes place before these ones. I’d like to learn more about Boba Fett.”

“A television series, perhaps,” offered Maxwell, drawing his arm around you.

After the movie, as Alistair was brushing his teeth, you snuggled against Max on the couch. “Tomorrow,” you said with a smile as you tapped your engagement ring.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, leaning his face towards yours. You grinned as you leaned into his kiss.

Alistair returned to the living room, pajamas on and ready for bed. “All ready,” he announced. He yawned as you and Max followed him down the hall to tuck him in.

You and Max lay in bed facing each other for a long time, as though memorizing each others’ faces. Your foreheads touched, fingers roamed. Every now and again one of you would press kisses to each other’s skin.

“Are you ready for tomorrow? For the rest of our lives?” asked Maxwell.

You responded by kissing him on the lips. Delicately at first, but increasingly heated. “God, yes.”

* * *

_Friday, October 11, 1985_

“Good morning soon-to-be Mrs. Lorenzano,” said Max in between kisses. You smiled up into his lips as they met yours for a good morning kiss.

“Good morning yourself, Mr. Lorenzano.”

You thought you would be more nervous on the morning of your wedding; you just felt a calm excitement. Not a hint of nerves.

Giving him another kiss, you moved your hands into his hair, deepening the kiss. “Mmm… if we weren’t getting married later today, I’d say I want to stay here all day,” you said as you pulled your lips away from his.

The day passed quickly, as though a higher power wanted the two of you to get married as much as you did. Before you realized it, you and Maxwell were preparing to leave. Your suitcases were at the front door along with Alistair’s duffle bag.

“We love you so much, Alistair,” you said, crouching down in your dress so that you were at eye-level with him. “And we’re so happy that you can be with us while we do this.” You hugged him gently.

“Ready to go?” asked Maxwell, stepping into the entry hall. Standing up, you beamed at him, taking his hand in yours.

For all the complications that movies and TV gave about marrying in secret, it was surprisingly easy and straightforward.

The minister’s wife was your witness (since Alistair was too young to be a witness). As the minister spoke through the steps and the process, Maxwell’s hand never left yours.

And then it was time.

You repeated the vows after each other solemnly yet tenderly, clutching Maxwell’s hands in your own as you spoke. Hearing Max promise to care for and cherish you, though it was nothing new, lit a fire in your heart. And to say it in return was just as gratifying.

The wedding ring felt at home with the engagement ring on your left hand as he placed it on with the utmost care.

“I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Lorenzano. You may kiss your bride,” pronounced the minister.

Maxwell and you had kissed countless times before now. But this kiss - your first kiss as husband and wife? It was like kissing him for the first time all over again. Just as your lips touched, a burst of afternoon sun filtered through the chapel stained glass window.

“I love you,” he whispered so quietly that only you could hear it as you pulled back from each other. You responded in kind.

After signing the license, officially making your marriage legal and official, you could truly call yourself Maxwell Lorenzano’s wife.

“Congratulations,” said both the minister and his wife, shaking your hand and Maxwell’s as you exited the small chapel after taking a few photos with your camera.

“A long and prosperous marriage!” they called after you as you pulled out of the small parking lot.

* * *

Alistair dropped off at the Rogers’ safely, you and Maxwell were on the road. You weren’t going anywhere fancy for your honeymoon. He’d always wanted to go to Massachussetts, so you were going on a little road trip of Massachussetts and Vermont. It was supposed to be beautiful this time of year.

It was late by the time you checked into the hotel a few hours later. You had stopped off at a little restaurant on the road, so you could just go straight up to the hotel room.

As Max took a shower, you prepped yourself in the room. Taking off your clothes, you put on a short silk robe you had purchased for your wedding night. Sitting at the mirror directly across from the bathroom, you waited for your husband.

Maxwell wasn’t long. As he emerged from the bathroom, still damp from the shower, he caught sight of you. You sat stone-still, waiting for him to come over.

He walked slowly over to you. “You look like a gift,” he said, in awe of you. He buried his face in your neck, pressing kisses across your neck and jaw. His hand hovered at the tie of the red silk robe as his lips met yours.

“Mrs. Lorenzano,” he said seductively, fingers playing with the tie of the robe.

“Mr. Lorenzano,” you replied.

The robe coming undone, you let it fall to the floor as Maxwell pulled you up into his arms for your first night as husband and wife.


	11. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the end! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported and left feedback on this series. I’ve so enjoyed writing this and I’m a little sad that it’s over. I will be writing more Maxwell Lord in the future, he is so great to write for!
> 
> Chapter warnings: Implied/referenced sex, pregnancy and brief mention of its side effects, referenced childbirth, kissing, swearing
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

_Saturday, December 7, 1985_

“And as you can see, it has original stained-glass windows in the living room and all hardwood floors,” said the real estate agent.

It had been Maxwell’s idea to look for a house, but it was something that you agreed with. Your apartment was too small to keep living there. Financially, you were in a good spot with Max. Though you would never have enough money to own a villa in Italy or anything like that, you could afford a larger place than the one you were currently living in.

Home wasn’t a place for you. It was the people you spent your life with. The new title that Alistair had started calling you shortly after you and Max returned from your honeymoon still echoed in your mind. “G’night, mom,” he’d said, completely unprompted, as you and Max were tucking him in one night. Before he could panic, you reassured Alistair, trying to contain your own emotions, that he could call you mom if he wanted to.

The name had stuck.

“What do you think, _dulzura?_ ” asked Max, “I think it might be a bit too much. What are we going to do with four bedrooms?” He turned to you to gauge your opinion.

You chuckled at the sight of Maxwell not wanting more than he needed, something that would never have happened a year and a half ago, before pondering for a moment. “It _is_ nice,” you said, wanting to make the real estate agent feel reassured, “but what about the cost? We can’t really move outside of a specific price range,” you reasoned.

The real estate agent, Maggie, reassured you that it was within the budget that you had specified with her. “And the owners are willing to negotiate,” she said. “Take another look around the house, just the two of you,” she added before walking back outside, leaving you and your husband alone to look at the house.

“It is a _really_ nice house,” you said as you lightly swung your clasped-together hands back and forth. “Did you see the backyard? It’s perfect for Alistair to play in. And the bedrooms are good sizes, it won’t feel like we’re living in a shoebox.” You faux-cringed.

Maxwell smiled at you. “I really do like it, my love. And I can see that you have your heart set on it.”

Dropping your hand from his, you lifted both of yours to his chest in a gentle manner. “Max. I don’t care where we live. Home is wherever you and Alistair are.” You kissed him to drive home your point. “As for the extra bedrooms, you could use one as a home office. And Alistair can have his friends over if he wants to. It’s away from the hustle and bustle of the city,” you reasoned, “but don’t say yes to this house if it isn’t right for _you,_ my love. It’s like baby names. If one says no, move on to the next one.”

Max raised his eyebrow at your analogy. “Baby names?” he teased, “is there something you wish to tell me, _amor?_ ”

Heat flooded to your cheeks. Shaking your head, you said, “No, my love. Just a comparison.” You kissed him on the cheek again, moving your hands from his chest to the back of his neck.

“I don’t mind,” you repeated, drawing invisible lines on the back of Max’s neck with your thumb. “Just so long as I’ve got my boys with me, I’m happy as happy can be.” Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“I think this house is the one for us,” Max said. “I can see us having a life here. It’s away from the chaos of the city, it gives us an opportunity to grow and be comfortable instead of being all over each other,” he continued.

“Are you sure?” you breathed, “because I’m all in if you are.” Max nodded as he bent his head to kiss you.

“ _Mi amor,_ I am always all in with you.”

* * *

_Thursday, January 30, 1986_

“Okay, sweetpea, are you sure you have everything packed?”

Alistair nodded as he took one last sweeping look around his bedroom. All that remained - besides a few packed up boxes - was his mattress (the frame was already at the new house) and a change of clothes for tomorrow morning. In a way that only an almost nine-year-old could be, Alistair was excited to sleep on just his mattress tonight.

It was your last night in the apartment before you, Maxwell, and Alistair moved to your new house. Your real estate agent had managed to get the previous owners to reduce the asking price when she made the offer on your behalf.

You were giddy with excitement; none of you could wait until you were in your new home together.

Max snaked his arms around you as the two of you finally lay down for the night. It was an early night for all three of you. The movers were scheduled to come at 8:30 tomorrow morning. “Tonight is our last night in this place,” he said conversationally, not-so-innocently pressing kisses into your neck, making you squirm in his arms in anticipation.

“It is.” You tried to keep your voice calm, knowing where this conversation was going.

“We should make the most of it.” Your husband’s voice was husky in your ear before you closed the distance between the two of you, more than ready to make the most of the last night in this apartment.

The next morning, you woke with an hour to spare. Maxwell was already up and about, getting up Alistair and making breakfast. It was going to be a long and busy day. It had been some time since you had properly moved. When you had moved in with Max and Alistair, it had been pretty seamless, a mere blip in your system since you already practically lived with them already.

This time was different. This was your first home together that the two of you chose together. It was exciting. Getting away from this apartment building was long overdue.

“You ready, buddy?” you asked Alistair as he munched on some scrambled eggs. He nodded enthusiastically. “Me, too,” you smiled at him as you accepted a cup of coffee from Max. “Thanks, love.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead before he joined you at the table with his own plate of eggs and toast. It wouldn’t be long until the movers arrived. The box of kitchenware lay open on the floor, waiting for the last of the plates, cups and cutlery to be added after breakfast. It would be the last box to be packed.

The buzzing at the intercom five minutes after you had carefully wrapped the plates in newspaper was your cue to start the day. You and Alistair shared an excited grin as Max buzzed up the movers.

* * *

You were _exhausted;_ you had forgotten just how tiring moving could be. It was just after dusk. The movers had left hours ago after they had placed everything where you thought you wanted it to be, leaving you with a small mountain of boxes to unpack.

All of the important stuff had been unpacked. Sheets, clothes, enough dishes to get you through to tomorrow, linens. Everything else would wait until tomorrow and the coming days.

Alistair was down for the count. He had mostly unpacked his room, save for the books in his makeshift bookshelf made from planks of wood and bricks. As soon as his head hit his pillow, he was asleep. You smiled at the sight of him, dreaming away.

“Penny for your thoughts?” whispered Max from beside you. Smiling up at him, you shook your head. He drew an arm around you. Snuggling into his side, you walked in sync next to him into the spacious living room that was overtaken with boxes.

Sitting down on the couch, Maxwell pulled you down onto his lap. “Are you happy, _mi amor?_ ” he whispered tenderly, his breath ghosting across your neck.

You nodded. “I’m so happy,” you replied, “so happy, I don’t know what to do with myself. I love being your wife. Being Alistair’s mom. I love that you’re my husband and this is our life.”

Capturing his lips with yours, you sighed into the kiss, deepening it, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth. “I love you,” he said in between kisses. “I love you so much.”

Before you could get too carried away, Max picked you up, carried you up the stairs to your new bedroom. Your legs locked around his waist, you pressed kisses into his cheeks, his jaw, his chin, his nose. Anywhere your lips you could land. “Love you,” you breathed out as he set you down gently on the bed, both of you ready to commemorate your first night in your new home.

“Sleepy thing.” Max was not far off. You were dozy, pleasantly tired from your activities. You nodded sleepily as you scooched impossibly closer to him. It was a struggle to keep your eyes open, much as you wanted to. “It’s all right, _querida_ ,” he said gently, “you rest. We had a long day today, and we have a lot to do tomorrow.”

It wasn’t long after that that you fell asleep. Usually when you slept in an unfamiliar place, you would wake or be disoriented. But here, with Max, in your new home, you slept just fine, ensconced in your husband’s hold.

Your eyes fluttered open some time later. Glancing at the clock on your night table, you saw it was just after seven in the morning. You yawned and stretched out your arm. Beside you, Max still slept.

Brushing the chestnut locks that had been mussed from sleep and your activities the night before away from his forehead, you pressed a feather-light kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be right back,” you whispered.

Checking quickly on Alistair to confirm he was still asleep, you made your way into the kitchen to make some coffee for Max and you. Humming as you waited for the coffee to finish, you glanced around the kitchen. You couldn’t wait to start cooking and baking in here. It would probably be another night of take out or eating at a restaurant. You mentally went through everything that needed to be done today. Get Alistair to school - he could take the school bus here, but you and Max wanted to drive him today - then continue unpacking and getting settled in.

So lost in thought were you, that you missed Max coming down the stairs as you took out the milk and sugar for your coffees. You were just stirring the coffee for Max as his arms wrapped around you, his chest warm from bed still through his waffle-knit shirt.

“Morning,” he said, his voice still gravelly from sleep. He kissed your cheek.

“Morning yourself,” you said, leaning into his kiss. “I was counting on you staying in bed for another five minutes so I could bring you coffee in bed,” you faux-complained.

Maxwell chuckled low in your ear before unwinding his arms from around your waist. “I woke up and missed my wife next to me. I needed to find her.” Accepting the coffee with a thank you, he sighed contently, leaning back against the kitchen counter, watching the sunrise through the stained glass window, holding your hand in his.

It wouldn’t be long until Alistair had to be woken up for school. It would be another busy day and you had a lot to do, but both you and Max agreed that Alistair should go to school.

But you and he could stand here in the kitchen with your quiet moment another minute longer before getting started with your day properly.

* * *

_Thursday, March 6, 1986_

You stared down at the stick that was sitting facing away from you on the bathroom counter next to the sink. Another thirty seconds before you could see the result, though you were pretty sure you already knew what it was.

As you watched the seconds tick down, you thought of what you would tell Max. Either way. It was a big thing to consider.

Twenty seconds left. Fifteen. Ten. Five, four, three, two, one…

You placed the watch down on the counter next to the test. Picking up the test, you shut your eyes, willing it to have the answer you wanted it to have. Opening your eyes, you looked down at the test.

 _Pregnant_.

The tears that had been threatening all morning and afternoon finally spilled over as you continued to stare at the pink positive sign. You and Max were having a baby. Now all you had to do was tell him.

The sooner the better, you thought. He already suspected something was up, and you didn’t want to keep him in suspense any longer. Stepping out of the staff washroom, you were still in a bit of a stupor, faintly aware of other people who worked at Alistair House saying hello to you.

You placed the test in your pocket, not wanting people to know besides Maxwell. People could find out when you and Max were ready to tell them. As you walked down the hallway, your mind swirled with a thousand different questions.

_Would he be happy like you were? Upset? Reluctant? What would you tell Alistair? When would you tell Alistair?_

Max’s door was shut. You glanced at the plaque on the wall _, Maxwell Lorenzano, Director,_ as you knocked timidly, unsure of whether he was on the phone.

“Come in.” You pushed the door open. Looking up from his paperwork, Max smiled at you. “A welcome visitor,” he said, swivelling in his chair, “but you never have to knock.” He kissed you in greeting.

“I wasn’t sure if you were on the phone or not,” you mumbled, finally finding some semblance of your voice.

 _It’s your husband, the love of your life_ , you chided yourself. _He’s going to be over the moon_.

Immediately, Maxwell noticed your timidness, your tear-swollen eyes. His smile turned to a frown of concern. “Are you all right?” he asked.

 _Now or never_.

“So, you know how I am late?” you started, “and I’m never late?” Max nodded wordlessly, urging you to continue. “And do you remember our first night at the house?”

Again, Max nodded. “I remember,” he confirmed.

You continued, pulling the test from your pocket. “I’m pretty sure I’m - that we’re… I think I’m pregnant,” you said in one breath, handing the positive test to Maxwell.

He took it wordlessly as you continued, still not pausing for breath, not seeing the look of concern and confusion turn to one of joy. Instead, you opted to look somewhere in the region of his chest. “It could be a false positive but it would also explain why I’ve been nauseated and tired and bloated. And I know you’ve been worried which is why I’m telling you right now instead of waiting.”

Max interrupted you, saying your name to get your attention. He lifted your chin with his fingers so that you could see the look of pure happiness on his face. “You’re -?” he breathed. “We…?”

Tears threatened to spill over once again as he pulled you in his arms, rocking you back and forth. “I’m so happy, _mi amor,_ ” Max said, laughter bleeding into his voice. “I’m the happiest man in the world.” He pulled back to kiss you.

“Really?’ you said, relief flooding your veins. “Because Max, I am so excited to have a baby. _Nervous_. But I want this to be real,” you said. “I need to go to the doctor to confirm it, but I am pretty sure it’s true.”

“Come on, _amor_. I’m calling a half day for us. Let’s call the doctor and see if he can fit us in today,” said Max, kissing you again. He couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “A baby,” he whispered in awe as you picked up the phone, dialling the doctor’s office.

Three hours and one blood test later, it was confirmed. You were six weeks pregnant.

“I’m so happy, my love,” whispered Maxwell that night as he cuddled you close, pressing a kiss to your stomach where your baby grew. “So perfectly happy.”

You nodded in eager agreement, kissing him lightly. “Me, too.”

* * *

_Saturday, October 4, 1986_

She was early. Not by much, but still earlier than you anticipated her being. Ironically, just yesterday, before you realized that the false contractions you were having were actually very much real, you had been saying to Max that you felt like you were about ready to pop.

“You’ve been having those false contractions for quite a while, _querida_. Are you sure it’s just false ones?” he asked as you groaned. “Maybe we should take you to the hospital.”

“W-what - _oh, fuck_ \- what about Alistair?” you asked through gritted teeth as Max grabbed your hospital bag that he’d prepared a week ago. “He’s still at school.”

Before you could say anything else, Max had put together a weekend bag for him. “I’ll call the Rogers when we get you to the hospital. Remember, they said they would take him?”

Alistair was so excited to be a big brother. He’d always wanted a younger sibling, so when you and Max had told him after your first ultrasound, he’d been almost as thrilled as his father was.

Time seemed to speed up and slow down, Max never leaving your side, letting you squeeze his hand as tightly as possible, reassuring you. It was a long time before you were ready. But then it was done and she was here, lungs fully operational.

“Oh, she’s perfect,” you said as the nurse handed her to you. “Just perfect.” You looked at her, nestled against your warm chest. “Hi baby. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“We love you so much, baby girl,” whispered Max as he got in close.

The doctor wanted to take her to the nursery just to make sure everything was all right since she was two weeks early. “Nothing to worry about, just procedural,” she reassured you and Max. And so that you could rest after a long delivery.

“Sleep, _amor_. You did so well, my dearest love. We will see her soon,” said Max, resting in the hospital bed next to you after the doctor took her to the nursery for observation.

You slept. At some point you were aware of Maxwell’s absence, figuring he had gone to call the Rogers, your parents.

When you woke, some hours later, he still hadn’t returned. Feeling suddenly restless, you got up from the hospital bed gingerly. Stepping into the hospital-issued slippers, you padded down the hallway carefully, going in the direction of the nursery to see if you could see your daughter.

Standing at the window was Max. At the sound of your slippered feet, he turned. “You’re meant to be sleeping,” he said as you curled into him.

“I wanted to see her,” you reasoned, following his gaze to the bassinet labelled baby girl Lorenzano.

“She really is wonderful, isn’t she?” you whispered. Max nodded. “They didn’t give us a chance to name her yet.”

“They will. Are you still all right with the name?” he asked as the baby rubbed her cheek in sleep.

“I am if you are.” You had settled on a name for both a girl and a boy. Both of you loved each option. Max and Alistair had been convinced it was a boy. At the thought of Alistair, you asked, “Have you told Alistair?”

“I have and he’s _thrilled_. I told him that he can come some time later tomorrow.”

A quick glance at the clock told you it was four in the morning. “And my mom and dad?”

Max confirmed that they were both coming to see the baby as soon as they could and couldn’t wait to meet her. Catching your look of exhaustion, he said, “What’s say we go back to bed?”

Leaning against Maxwell’s chest as the two of you settled into the small hospital bed, you closed your eyes, feeling his lips at your hair line. “I’m so happy, Max. So perfectly, perfectly happy.”

“Me, too. I never knew I could know such happiness and joy.”

In the days to come, your son would meet his sister for the first time, as would her grandparents. The four of you would settle into a routine. The baby would know nothing but love from her family.

As you slept in Max’s arms, he thought back to the time leading up to the first meeting between the two of you. It wasn’t an ideal meeting, neither of you could deny that. But Max wouldn’t wish anything differently about it for the world. He didn’t need to. He didn’t need to wish for anything else, not when he had everything he ever truly wanted.

It was still true that you didn’t like a gold rush. How quickly, though, you realized that Maxwell Lorenzano was the real deal. 

_The End_


End file.
